


A Much Needed Holiday

by CanonConvergence18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But mostly fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonConvergence18/pseuds/CanonConvergence18
Summary: After the Triwizard Tournament, Harry and Fleur stay in contact as pen pals. Once the war is over, Harry accepts an offer to come stay with Fleur in France. And because this a fan fiction, romance ensues.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 206
Kudos: 487





	1. Prologue: An Unlikely Letter

**Author's Note:**

> User Edett put the idea for a Harry/Fleur fic in my brain recently and I found it oddly engaging. If you've read my previous works, especially my rare pairs, then you'll know a bit of what to expect, although this won't be nearly as long as some of my other stories and it probably won't contain as much smut. Mostly consistent with canon except Fleur and Bill never got together after GoF, and Harry and Ginny don't really get back together after the Battle. Also worth mentioning that I don't speak French and I'm not British, so apologies if my language usage isn't accurate to either culture.

**June 1995**

Harry paced his tiny bedroom at number 4 Privet Drive, scowling at the crumpled pieces of parchment on his desk. Every now and then, he paused long enough to smooth one out and skim it again, as if hoping that its contents had changed in the last few minutes. When they proved just as vague and empty of actual information as he remembered, he crumpled them up once more and resumed pacing.

Ron, Hermione, and Sirius’s letters had started arriving at the same time and had the distinct feeling of being coordinated, as though they’d worked out what they’d say to him collectively. The fact that they were clearly all in the same place but couldn’t even tell him when he might join them was almost as maddening as the lengths they went to keep him in the dark about exactly _what_ they were doing. How hard was it to give him at least _some_ clue of what was going on in the wizarding world? He was fully aware that they couldn’t send him detailed battle plans or anything, but surely there was _something_ they could share? Where Voldemort was? Why the _Prophet_ wasn’t reporting about him? Why the hell Harry had been left _alone_ all summer?

Abruptly, all the energy left his body and he flung himself down on the bed. He was just sick of it all. Sick of being stuck at Privet Drive. Sick of waiting for news of the violence and deaths he knew were to come now that Voldemort was back. Sick of his only company being his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He just wanted to see someone, _anyone_ , who didn’t scowl at his very existence. Was that too much to ask?

Perhaps it was time for another walk, something to help clear his mind a bit. But before he could summon up the strength to force himself into movement, there was a clatter at his windowsill.

Harry was up in a flash, his wand in his hand before he realized the intruder was simply another owl, blinking serenely up at him. He lowered his wand, regarding this new owl curiously. It wasn’t one he recognized, which wasn’t too surprising by itself; he had received post from unknown senders often in the past. However, there was something about it that seemed different than other owls he’d seen. Its front was mostly white, but its back and wings were a sleek, distinctive gold. It looked more regal somehow than even snowy Hedwig, who was regarding the visitor with some level of mistrust.

Belatedly, Harry noticed the letter tied to the owl’s leg and hurried to take it. It was addressed to him in a flowing, elegant script that he did not recognize, but reminded him heavily of examples of Muggle calligraphy he’d seen. It wasn’t the Ministry of Magic purple, which was quite a relief given how he’d left things with the Minister at the end of the school year.

“Erm, thanks,” he said hesitantly to the owl. “Do you, um, need water or anything?”

The owl gave a single, almost disdainful look towards Hedwig’s water dish and took off back out of the window. Hedwig hooted in a distinctly affronted way while Harry sat down to open this new, mysterious letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you do not mind receiving post in this manner, I am afraid the details of Muggle post are quite beyond me. You may, of course, send Céline back with a note if you wish not to receive my letters in the future. That is, unless she did not already depart. She was a graduation present from my parents, but I am finding her a bit temperamental. I do hope she was polite with you and your family. They are non-magical folk, are they not? (Muggles I believe you British call them, yes?) I would not wish to disturb them with an unruly owl._

_I imagine you are perhaps wondering why I am writing? We did not discuss keeping in contact when I left Hogwarts, however I find myself wishing to keep my connection with your country alive, particularly given the events preceding my departure. I was moved by your Headmaster’s plea that we not allow the boundaries of country divide us in what may be unhappy times to come. To my shame, though, I have realized that I made very little connection with my fellows at Hogwarts, besides you and poor Cedric. (I beg of you not to mention that unfortunate young man who accompanied me to the Yule Ball, I am rather ashamed of my conduct that evening)._

_In light of these circumstances, would you perhaps be interested in having a French pen pal? I must assume that you are quite busy, even though the school year has ended. I therefore quite understand if you are unable to reply, or even unwilling. I am also painfully aware that I was rather rude to you at our first meeting and for some time after. It in no way excuses my actions, but I was angry to have come so far, only for Hogwarts to seemingly tilt the competition in their favor. After you risked your standing in the Tournament to save Gabrielle, I realized that I acted most unfairly towards you. Of course, we now know that you were an unfortunate victim of circumstance. I have often been told that I am too quick to judgement, and I beg your forgiveness my shortcoming. I hope that we might be friends._

_In the interest of being friends, I feel I should ask how you are faring after the third task? I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you in the maze, although my own experiences were also unpleasant. I am sure you have many others to talk with, but you may feel free to share whatever you wish with me. I have been experiencing many nightmares these past weeks, and I did not have to go through what you did._

_But enough of such unpleasantness. We should also be enjoying the beautiful summer weather! Truthfully, I am rather glad to be back in France at the moment; I am not sure the British climate agreed with me. I gather you are quite the Quidditch player, based on your performance during the first task? Do you have an opportunity to fly where you live? There is quite a bit of space near my parent’s home, but I must confess I am not much of a flier. The trip from Beauxbatons was absolutely terrifying!_

_I am afraid I must finish my letter here. My dear mother is insisting that I work more actively to find some form of employment, but I have to admit I am rather enjoying my leisure at the moment. Nevertheless, she is right, and I have an appointment at our Ministry shortly. I sincerely hope this letter finds you well, and if you have the opportunity, I would welcome hearing from you._

_Meilleurs Sentiments,_

_Fleur Delacour_

Harry stared at the letter, rereading it multiple times to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. Fleur Delacour wanted to be friends? With _him_?

Of all the Triwizard champions, Fleur had always been something of an enigma to Harry, even compared with Krum. She seemed to jump between extremes, haughty and disdainful when they’d first met, then warm and effusive after the second task. He’d honestly never considered that they might end up as friends.

However, as strange as the idea was, the more he read her letter, the more he was taken by the idea. Unlike the other communications he’d received this year, Fleur had seemed genuinely interested in how he was doing. She’d asked questions about his state of mind and remembered a remarkable number of details about him. She’d also shared more about what she was up to than any of his other friends. Hell, after a single letter, he felt like he had a better sense of what she’d been doing this summer than Ron or Hermione.

Before he’d even fully considered it, Harry was reaching for a piece of parchment and his eagle feather quill. Words spilled out of him onto the page without conscious thought, and for a long time, the only sound to be heard in his bedroom was the scratching of his quill.

_Dear Fleur,_

_It’s really great to hear from you. You’re right, I wasn’t expecting it, but I think it’d be nice to be pen pals…_


	2. Adieu and Hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright then, first proper chapter! I was really pleasantly surprised at the initial interest in this fic; I hadn't realized Harry/Fleur was so popular and I hope it lives up to expectations. A couple things I should mention right off the bat: I won't be doing the spelling thing that Rowling used to indicate a French accent, like for example 'Arry. I found it a bit challenging to write out, so please just imagine Fleur's lovely French lilt. Also, I depart from what seem to be a few of the conventions in Harry Potter fan fic writing when it comes to Veela. I don't, for example, use the term allure or a couple other tropes that I've seen. Just wanted to give a heads up for those of you who are more used to Harry/Fleur fics, in case the differences come as jarring. Okay, that's enough of me, happy reading!

**_May 1998_ **

_Dear Harry,_

_I am so happy to hear from you after so long, and so saddened to hear of all you have endured the past year. The news out of Britain has been quite horrible since Voldemort took power. Every time we received word of another death, I feared that they had found you. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you survived, and that you and your friends have managed to put a stop to such evil. I know it must be poor consolation, after everything you have suffered, but what you have accomplished is truly incredible. They will surely write many songs about your bravery in years to come!_

_At the same time, I can only imagine the pain you must be feeling at losing so many precious friends and family. My grandparents lived through Grindelwald’s own attempt at conquest in Europe, and I know they still carry the burden of those times even to this day._

_I am sure that you have received many offers of employment since Voldemort’s death, I recall you mentioning an interest in joining the Aurors. I have no doubt they would be happy to have you join them now. However, if I might be so bold as to propose an alternative, in case your plans have changed while in hiding. Perhaps you might enjoy a bit of an holiday for a time? You have spent so long under so much pressure, surely it would not be so terrible to take some time for yourself, away from all the responsibility? I would be more than happy to host you here in Paris for as long as you might like to be away from painful memories. I can tell that you are in a great deal of pain, and I would not wish you to stretch yourself to the point where you break completely._

_Of course, I know this is quite a suggestion. You still have so many who love you and are there to support you in Britain. And perhaps a girlfriend too, if you and Ginny have reunited? I will not be in any way offended if you would prefer to stay near to home. The offer is always open to you._

_Please, whatever you choose, follow what will make you happy. You certainly deserve it as much as anyone I know._

_Much Love,_

_Fleur_

Harry gripped the letter tightly as the Ministry of Magic elevator rose to its very top level, needing to feel the texture of the parchment to comfort himself. His heart thundered in his chest, seeming to grow louder with each floor that passed. Was this the right choice? Was he really prepared to leave the only home he’d ever known for a strange country and a person he hadn’t seen in over three years?

He kept reminding himself that it wasn’t permanent. He was just going for a change of scenery and a chance to recuperate. People went on vacations all the time, right? Like Fleur said, he’d earned a bit of break. And France would be perfect; he wouldn’t be pestered by reporters and obsessed fans. He could just relax and be himself.

Whoever that was.

The lift clanged open and a cool female voice said, “Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff.” Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and marched purposefully down the purple carpeted hallway.

A few people glanced at him as he passed, but luckily no one stopped him to ask for an autograph or to offer thanks. He tried to be kind with such folks, but he didn’t have the patience for it today. Perhaps Kingsley had instructed his staff to refrain from bothering him after the last few times he’d visited.

A middle-aged wizard sat behind a desk outside the Minister’s office in a richly appointed waiting room. He smiled as Harry approached. “They’re waiting for you. Have a nice trip, Mr. Potter.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, nodding awkwardly as he ducked into Kingsley’s office.

“Harry!”

Despite having seen him only two days prior, Hermione hugged Harry like they’d been apart for months. That didn’t stop him returning the hug tightly with the arm not holding his suitcase, though. Over her shoulder, Ron was grinning ruefully. Kingsley was bent over his desk, wand out and hadn’t noticed him enter.

Even though he’d only been appointed Minister for Magic a month prior, Kingsley’s office was already overflowing with stacks of parchment. Harry knew from their conversations that the war had decimated the Ministry’s numbers, and Kingsley was effectively doing a half a dozen other jobs in addition to his own. It would take years to rebuild, if not longer, and once again Harry felt guilty for running away from it all.

“We’re going to miss you so much!” Hermione said, still gripping Harry as if afraid he might vanish if she let go.

“Sorry,” he muttered automatically.

“No, no, I wasn’t blaming you.” Hermione pulled away, her brow furrowed. “I think it’ll be good for you. I just mean, we won’t see you for who knows how long.”

“Yeah, mate, nothing wrong with it at all,” Ron added. “Just a bit weird, you know? You in France, me and Hermione in Australia soon. Hard to imagine us on separate continents.”

“You sure you don’t need me to stick around for a bit?” Harry asked, somewhat hesitantly. He didn’t really _want_ to, but it still seemed selfish not to offer.

Kingsley straightened up and turned a frown on Harry. “You’ve done more than enough, Harry. I’d say you’ve earned a bit of a break.”

Harry felt obligated to point out, “I haven’t done any more than you or the other Aurors, and they’re not running off to France.”

The other three occupants of the office exchanged glances that were half amused, half incredulous and Harry felt his face redden.

“I think you know that’s not true,” Kingsley said. “We have peace now, a chance to rebuild, thanks to _you_. You’re not under obligation do _anything_ else right now. But if it helps,” he went on, preempting Harry’s protests, “I can honestly tell you there’s not a lot you could do at the moment. You’re a phenomenal Dark Wizard hunter, Harry, but right now we need bureaucrats far more than Aurors, which I know for a fact is not your strong suit. If anything, I’m more anxious for Hermione to get back.”

“I’ve told you, I’m going back to Hogwarts after the summer,” Hermione said with some exasperation.

“We’ll chat about it,” Kingsley said, unfazed.

Harry and Ron shared a grin. Kingsley had been actively trying to bring Hermione into the Ministry since the war had ended, but he clearly had no idea how stubborn she could be once she made up her mind.

“Honestly, Harry,” Kingsley said, picking back up on his train of thought, “don’t worry about us. Take as much time as you need, and if you still want to join the Ministry when you get back, we’ll be happy to have you in the Aurors. Or anywhere really, except the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “What, why not?” He’d never had a desire to become an Unspeakable, but he didn’t expect the qualifier.

“They, um,” Kingsley coughed delicately. “They don’t like you very much. _Any_ of you,” he added to Ron and Hermione. “You destroyed a lot of really valuable stuff back when you all went traipsing through. They actually wanted to bring you up on charges, but Dumbledore blocked it when he was reinstated to the Wizengamot.”

The trio exchanged looks of surprise. Harry felt a bit befuddled, Hermione was clearly guilty, but Ron looked almost incensed.

“Yeah, well I might like to have a word with them about some of the weird shit they keep lying around!” he said, hiking up his sleeve to show the scars on his arm, “I’ve still got marks from those freaky brain things!”

“Why don’t we avoid confrontations?” Kingsley suggested. “Let’s just say Atrium and up, yeah?”

Harry grinned. “Deal.”

An empty butterbeer bottle on Kingsley’s desk started glowing faintly, drawing their attention.

“Well, about a minute to go,” Kingsley said briskly. Ordinarily, the Department of Magical Transportation managed travel by portkey, but Harry was concerned that if he went through official channels, word would get out that Harry Potter was fleeing to France, and he’d be pursued by reporters. Kingsley had therefore agreed to handle the arrangements himself.

Harry nodded, a sense of determination coming over him. He turned to Ron and Hermione, whose eyes had both gone suddenly misty.

“Well,” he said, “I guess this is it. You two look after each other, alright? I don’t wanna have to come to Australia to rescue you from some weird Dark Wizards in the desert.”

Ron managed a smile, but Hermione’s lips trembled, and she pulled him back into an embrace. “I _really_ hope you enjoy France, Harry. Please write as often as you can!”

“I will,” Harry promised, determined to follow through for once. “You too. Let me know the minute you find your parents.”

Ron was next. Harry was having trouble seeing him through a film of unshed tears, but his oldest friend’s jaw was tight. “Take care, Harry,” he said as they hugged. “Don’t eat any bouillabaisse, that stuff looked horrible.”

Harry laughed as they broke apart, wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve. Kingsley approached and handed Harry the bottle, which was glowing even brighter.

“Thanks, Kingsley,” Harry said as sincerely as he could.

Kingsley gave him a warm, rich smile. “Anytime, Harry.”

The bottle’s glow peaked and Harry waved it goodbye at his friends. Right before its magic took hold, Ron blurted out, “Say hi to Fleur for me.”

The last thing Harry saw was Hermione slapping her ashamed looking boyfriend on the arm with a sharp, “Ron!” and Kingsley’s booming laugh before the familiar, unpleasant sensation of being hooked behind his navel yanked him away from the office. He closed his eyes firmly against the flashes of colour spinning around him and concentrated on holding his stomach in check until it ended.

His knees almost buckled when he hit the ground, but he managed to keep his feet. He opened his eyes, swaying in the unfamiliar room as the world reasserted itself around him. A kind looking witch in blue robes approached him and guided him gently by the arm to a nearby bench, where he lowered himself gingerly.

“How are you feeling, Monsieur Potter?” the witched asked solicitously in accented English. “Do you need a calming draught?”

“No, I’m fine,” Harry said as his stomach reaccustomed itself to being still. Once his vision stopped spinning, he realized he was in a carpeted, circular room about the size of the Gryffindor common room. Benches, chairs, and cushions lined the edges, presumably to allow disoriented travelers a moment to recover. “Thanks, I’m good now.”

The witch smiled. “Of course. If you will follow me this way, we can take care of your paperwork.”

She led him into a much larger room more reminiscent of a hall. Plain, wooden desks were set in neat rows with witches and wizards seated on either side of them. Harry quickly gathered that the French Ministry officials were the ones in deep blue robes like his guide. She brought him to what he assumed was her desk and had him take a seat opposite while she pulled out a parchment file.

“This should not take long,” she assured him. “Your Minister made arrangements with us about your trip, but we have only just opened travel with Britain up again. I hope you understand we must take a few precautions.”

“No problem,” Harry said, for the first time really imagining what the war must have looked like from the outside. He wasn’t at all surprised they had shut down travel; he’d have done the same thing in their shoes.

The witch smiled again before looking at the file. “Wonderful. I just have a few questions then. You are Harry James Potter, currently of number 12 Grimmauld Place in London, England?”

Harry nodded, suppressing a wince. He was required to have a legal residence now that the war was over, and since 12 Grimmauld Place was technically his, he had reluctantly listed it.

“And you currently have a provisional offer of employment from the English Auror Office, pending your acceptance.”

Again, Harry nodded. Kingsley had offered all members of the DA and the Order of the Phoenix entry into the Auror program, regardless if they’d completed their N.E.W.T.s. Ron had leapt at the opportunity, as had several of their classmates and friends. Harry hadn’t accepted yet, but Kingsley had made it clear it was an open offer.

“What is the purpose of your visit, then?”

Harry shrugged. “Vacation, I suppose.”

The witch glanced up briefly to give him a smile. “I imagine after what your country has been through, a vacation will be very nice. And you’re staying with Fleur Delacour?”

“That’s right,” Harry said, feeling suddenly warm. In England this would have been scandalous news, but the witch took it without blinking.

“You are quite lucky, her café is the most _splendid_ place!” She flourished her quill and closed up the file. “Alright then, that takes care of the official details. We have you registered as a visitor in France, free to go wherever you wish. If at any point you wish to make your stay permanent or seek employment, you will need to notify us and go through an approval process. And just so you are aware, the local Gringotts branch will still be able to give you access to your funds, in absentia of course. Do you have any questions I could answer at this time?”

Harry shook his head. Hermione had research these, and many more details the moment he’d mentioned that he as thinking about taking up Fleur on her offer.

“Perfect!” The witch stood and held out her hand to shake. “Welcome to France, Monsieur Potter. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Me too.”

“If you arranged for Mademoiselle Delacour to meet you, she should be waiting for you through that door.” She pointed to the opposite wall.

Each step toward the door accompanied a spike in his nerves. Was he really doing this? With a shock he fully realized that this was the first time he’d been out of the country before, and now he was going to be staying with a person he’d only interacted with through letters. It was crazy, wasn’t it? As he reached the door, he was seized by a sudden urge to turn right back around and ask for a portkey home.

He restrained the impulse, reminding himself that Fleur was a friend. A _good_ friend, no matter the distance. He’d shared more with her over the last few years than just about anyone else in his life, even Ron and Hermione. And it would be extremely rude to go to all this effort just to back out at the last minute. He steeled himself and opened the door.

The room beyond reminded him almost of a hospital sitting area, with rows of cushioned chairs and folks milling around as they waited for family and friends to arrive. It felt much cheerier luckily; there was a sense of anticipation not unlike when students debarked the Hogwarts Express at the start of summer.

He spotted Fleur almost at once, even through the gaggle of other witches and wizards, sitting by herself along one of the walls. Her silvery blonde hair seemed to light up the air around her like a halo, and not a few of the room’s occupants were sneaking furtive glances at her. She appeared oblivious to the attention, however, and was gazing around absently, one foot tapping the ground impatiently.

When she caught sight of him, her face lit up in a wide, brilliant smile. Harry hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the delighted expression and enthusiasm with which she leapt to her feet took him by surprise. She crossed the length of the room before he’d even taken a couple steps and wrapped him up in an embrace that would have put even Hermione’s bear hugs to shame.

“Oh, it is so wonderful to see you, Harry!” she gushed.

“You too, Fleur,” he stammered, setting down his suitcase so he could return the hug properly.

Over her shoulder, many of the wizards and one or two of the witches were staring at him in stunned, almost jealous surprise. For the most part they didn’t appear to recognize him, which made him think they must find the idea of them together shocking in the extreme. He almost felt like he should explain to the room that they were simply old friends.

“I’m so happy you decided to come!” Fleur said, drawing back but cupping his face as if making sure it was actually him. Dimly, he realized with some surprise that he’d grown slightly taller than her. His last memory was of her towering over him. “I thought surely it was a silly suggestion.”

“No, not at all,” he said, feeling the flush spread across his cheeks. “Everyone agreed it’d be helpful for me to get away for a bit and relax. It was good of you to put the idea in my head.”

Fleur beamed. “Then we shall make sure you get enough relaxation to last a lifetime! Come, you must be exhausted. I know I always feel drained after taking a portkey. We’ll get you home and comfortable.”

She took him by the hand and pulled him out of the waiting room, effortlessly ignoring the continued stares they were getting. Harry felt like he was going somewhere using a portkey again as she guided him quickly through the French Ministry. He got brief glimpses of a grand Atrium with a huge domed glass ceiling before they stepped into a lift quite like the one at the British Ministry. They emerged on a wide street surrounded by regal looking buildings that Harry was sure Hermione could have talked about for hours.

Fleur spoke almost non-stop as they marched through the streets. “I hope they did not give you too much trouble with the paperwork, they haven’t been letting anyone from Britain in for over a year now. Was it Charlotte who helped you? She is quite wonderful, is she not?”

She seemed to require no response from Harry, who was happy to let her talk while he stared at this strange, beautiful new city. He kept expecting them to duck into an alley to Apparate to her home but thought perhaps she was giving him a quick tour. Eventually, she cleared up the confusion.

“My apartment is just a couple blocks this way. The café is just over there.” She pointed down a positively adorable looking side street. “We can go there later if you like, our baker is the absolute best pâtissier in the whole city, but we don’t need to if you would rather stay out of sight, I know you do not like being, how did you put it? Mobbed? But it should be fine. Most French witches and wizards have heard of you of course, but I doubt many would recognize you immediately. And I think we are a bit more polite here than many of the Brits you have told me about, not that the English are not courteous of course.”

Her monologue only abated once they reached her apartment building, a homey looking four story structure with numerous flower trellises and balconies lining the outside. She led him up to the very top floor, where her door opened of its own accord, and she ushered in him.

Fleur’s apartment was small and cozy. The sitting room blended into the kitchen with just a small round table separating them. Much of the furniture was decorated with floral prints, and the walls were all light pastels. The windows were open, and Harry had to assume she had charms of some sort to filter out the noise of cars and traffic because the only sounds to be heard were the gentle breeze causing the curtains to flutter. It reminded Harry of the ocean, despite being in the middle of the city. There were numerous paintings on the walls, but they were different than any Harry had seen before. Most wizarding art he’d seen were moving, talking portraits, but these were much more abstract swirls of colour. They were obviously still magical, however, as the shapes moved and shifted, gradually changing colour as they did.

However, the thing that caught his attention most was a great snowy owl perched on a stand near the window. When she saw Harry enter, she gave a great hoot and immediately flew over to perch on his arm.

“Good to see you too Hedwig,” Harry smiled. “Missed me?”

Hedwig gave him a reproachful look, but still nipped at his finger affectionately.

“It was quite difficult to explain that she could not go back to you just yet,” Fleur said, coming to pat Hedwig. Behind her, Celine looked on imperiously.

“Thank you again,” Harry said. “It really means a lot to me.”

“Of course. As I said, it was the least I could do. Oh, my apologies, I should show you around. My room is at the end,” Fleur pointed down the hallway leading off the kitchen. “Yours is right here.”

She lead him into a room opposite the bathroom that was decorated in a mix of pink and light blue that barely avoided being too much. The bed was covered with similarly floral sheets and blankets and a small desk sat under the window.

“This is normally Gabby’s room when she stays with me,” Fleur said, an apologetic note in her voice. “I hope it is not to girly for you? She would kill me if I changed it.”

Harry smiled reassuringly. “It’s honestly fine. A much better shade of pink than my aunt liked. She painted our living room fuchsia once.”

Fleur actually shuddered. “I deeply regret hearing that. I’ll allow you to get settled while I attempt to Obliviate that horrifying image from my memory.”

Harry chuckled as she left the room. He sat on the edge of the bed while Hedwig perched on the desk and looked around more closely at the space that would be his home for the next…however long he ended up staying. It really was surprisingly nice. The colours of the walls were rather soothing, and he already felt much more relaxed. Now that he was finally here, he could stop worrying about whether this was a good idea.

It didn’t take him long to get unpacked; very few of his possessions had survived the war anyway. All he had were clothes, his photo album, some odds and ends, and the books Hermione had insisted he take with him, “In case he got bored.” Hedwig watched him serenely from a spot on the desk, head swiveling to follow his movements, as if concerned that he might disappear if she didn’t keep an eye on him.

Fleur was bustling about the little kitchen when he emerged. “I thought I might make some lunch, if you’re hungry?” she asked.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry said, walking over “Can I help?”

“Non, non, you should not have to work,” she shooed him away. “Sit, relax. Besides, there is very little room in here.”

Harry conceded the point and sat at the table while she cooked. He wasn’t sure whether he should try to strike up a conversation or if she needed to concentrate. Mrs. Weasley was very picky about being interrupted while cooking, and he didn’t want to bug her. On the other hand, it seemed rude to go fetch a book; he didn’t want her to think he was ignoring her.

So he watched her.

Harry had never liked staring at women. Some of his classmates, like Ron or Seamus, seemed to make a hobby of it, as if hoping that if they stared enough, the subjects of their affections would magically return their interest. When they didn’t, it often took a turn, with grumbles about girls being impossible to understand. Or worse, in some cases. Harry had long suspected much more lay behind Malfoy’s sneering, horrid obsession with Hermione. And while Harry was certainly guilty of a few grumbles in his time, he’d never liked the gawking that so fascinated others.

He’d been gawked at far too many times to wish to subject others to such scrutiny.

But he found it hard not to look at Fleur, given how small her apartment was and the fact that he hadn’t seen her in years. He wasn’t under the sway of whatever magic Veela had that drew men’s attention; although he was aware of its pull at the edge of his mind. In some ways in reminded him of being under the Imperius Curse, if its effects were heavily diluted. It nagged slightly but didn’t require much effort to ignore.

Someone like Ron would say that, Veela magic or no, Fleur was one the most attractive women he had ever seen. Harry agreed that Fleur was beautiful, but her looks had never particularly fascinated him the way they had others. For the relatively short time he’d been around her during the fourth year, her hauteur and attitude had taken precedent over her appearance.

The thing that struck him, looking at her now, was how much more at ease she looked. During her time at Hogwarts, she had always seemed a bit on edge, never quite happy with her surroundings. There had been a tension in the way she carried herself that Harry had never properly noticed until observing its absence. The Fleur he’d met three years ago had certainly never swayed side to side like she was dancing while humming lightly to herself. Nor had she smiled so freely as Fleur did now when she turned to set lunch down on the table. Despite the fact that she hardly seemed to have aged in the last three years, this barely felt like the young woman he’d known during the Tournament.

Perhaps that sense of disconnect contributed to the fact that he had no idea what to say once Fleur sat opposite him and they began to eat. His mind seemed utterly devoid of any meaningful thoughts, and he rather felt like a fourteen-year-old again.

Not that Fleur was particularly loquacious either. She was focusing on her food, except for the occasional flickering glance up at him, which he only caught because he was being equally furtive. Eventually, they both broke out into bashful laughter as they realized what they were doing.

“This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Fleur admitted. “I am much more used to speaking to you through a quill.”

Harry felt no small relief that she felt the same way. “Yeah, me too. I can’t figure out what I should say. It’s normally really easy when I’m writing.”

“Should I go get some parchment?” Fleur suggested jokingly. “We can pass notes like schoolchildren?”

Harry laughed. “I’m sure we can figure it out. It’s just a bit strange isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” Fleur nodded. “You look so different now. I didn’t expect you to be so tall, I could barely believe it when I saw you. It suits you well.”

Harry looked down to hide a faint blush. “You look exactly the same.”

Fleur frowned. “But I changed my hair. You mean you didn’t notice?” Harry stammered uncertainly before she smiled. “I’m am only teasing you Harry, I hardly expect you to remember what my hair looked like three years ago.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and it felt like the tension had broken. There was a bit more of an ease now. Questions started flooding back into his head, things he’d been wondering about while on the run and unable to write.

“I feel like we’ve got so much to catch up on,” he said. “How have you been the last year? How’d you end up running a café, you said you were thinking about taking some time to travel?”

“Oui, well, you know how life can be,” Fleur said with a shrug that sent her hair flowing. “The café actually belonged to a friend of my grandmother’s. It has been in her family for many generations, but she had no children of her own. She was getting too old to look after it, and she asked me to take over. I used to help out when I was younger, during breaks from school. I couldn’t say no.”

She looked slightly wistful. “Do you like it?” Harry asked.

Fleur took a moment before replying. “It keeps me busy, I suppose. I am not sure I care for the idea of being a restaurateur the rest of my life, but it gives me something to do for now. I am good at it; business is strong. But I might give it to Gabby after she is done with school. She enjoys the café far more than I do, I think.”

“How’s she doing? Did she like her first year at Beauxbatons?”

“Yes, although she is still disappointed my parents did not allow her to go to Hogwarts.” Fleur rolled her eyes. “With all affection, Harry, Beauxbatons is much grander than your little castle. I cannot fathom what her fascination with the place is.”

“Maybe she wants to visit the merpeople again?” Harry suggested with a grin.

“Then she is more than welcome to do so, _without_ me,” Fleur said, stabbing at a piece of lettuce. “Although she is quite excited to see you again. My parents have extended many invitations for dinner, if you would like to meet them.”

The idea caused Harry a bit of trepidation. “How much have you told them about me?”

“That you are desperately in love with me and have come all this way to woo me,” Fleur replied without hesitation. “They expect the proper offerings for a Veela family of course, so you should be prepared to obtain the heart of a dragon and the pelt of a Demiguise.”

Fleur kept a straight face for several seconds as Harry regarded her with mixed horror and suspicion until her façade cracked. She snickered mischievously before saying, “I’ve only shared what seemed appropriate. Little details about some of your adventures, certainly nothing scandalous.”

“Thank goodness,” Harry said, sagging in his chair. “I almost thought you were serious for a second there.”

“I would not be so cruel,” Fleur assured him. “Although, I shall warn you that both my parents have a wicked sense of humour, so you should be prepared if we do decide to spend time with them. But they are mostly curious to meet you. Even here, you are rather famous. And Gabby is quite enamoured with you.”

Harry arched a skeptical eyebrow. “She hasn’t seen me in over three years.”

Fleur shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a glint in her eye. “You made an impression. She’s always rather liked stories about dashing heroes and damsels in distress.”

“Merlin save me from damsels,” Harry muttered, thinking about the swarms of witches and not a few wizards who had made their affections for him known since the end of the war.

“Fear not,” Fleur said, “I shall protect you from the devious clutches of my twelve-year-old sister.”

Harry looked at her wryly. “When you put it that way, I feel particularly brave.”

She smiled again. “Enough about me and my silly French ennui though, how are you doing, Harry?”

“Honestly?” he said.

Her expression turned serious. “Of course. We have always been honest with one another, have we not?”

Harry sighed, setting down his fork. “I don’t know, Fleur, I really don’t. So much has happened. I feel like I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath.” He rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “For the last seven years, I’ve felt like Voldemort was looming over everything in my life. Now he’s gone, and supposedly I’m free to live however I want, but I just feel like…” He trailed off, trying to put the jumble of thoughts in his head into words. Fleur watched him patiently. “I feel like I don’t know _how_ to live my life without war or fighting. I haven’t gone a year without someone trying to kill me in so long. I don’t know what to do without it now. Isn’t that a messed-up way of looking at it?”

Fleur reached across to take his hand. “No, not at all, Harry. It is perfectly understandable for someone who has seen what you have. I have heard other survivors of war speak the same way. It takes some time to figure out what comes next, but I am sure you will be able to.”

He gave her a wan smile. “Thanks, Fleur. I really do appreciate you hosting me like this. I was all set to jump right into Auror work, but I think it was probably a good idea for me to take a break.”

Fleur squeezed his hand again before letting go. “Of course, Harry. That is what friends are for, no? Just tell me how you would like to spend your time here. I am happy to keep you busy or give you space. Whatever you would like.”

“Well right now I think I might like a bit of rest,” Harry said, finishing off the last few bites of his lunch. “It’s been a crazy month and I’m honestly knackered.”

“Certainly,” she replied, picking up their plates. “I will tell the party of Veela mascots I invited to keep the noise down.”

Harry laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and feedback are very welcome!


	3. Café de Fleurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really pleasantly surprised at the initial response to this story, I didn't realize how popular this pairing was! Thank to everyone who has read and commented so far, it's making me super excited to share updates!

_Dear Harry_

_It is quite wonderful that Professor McGonagall was so encouraging towards your interest in becoming an Auror. I know you were worried that she would think it a silly ambition, but now you see that we both agree you would make a remarkable Auror!_

_I don’t think I ever told you that I considered a similar career. The Auror Office here in France is quite prestigious, and I spent many years planning to apply to their ranks. That is actually part of the reason I wished to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. I was confident it would ensure my acceptance if I were to win the Tournament, given how important Defense magic was to the challenges._

_However, I found the experience of genuine combat did not suit me the way I had anticipated. The stress of the challenges was far from enjoyable. Especially the task involving Gabrielle. I am still rather cross with my parents for allowing her to participate in such a way._

_How is it that you keep such a clear head during moments of crisis? I saw as much during the competition, and you have shared many more examples. I find myself amazed that you always emerge triumphant from adventures that would crush others. After what you and your friends have done over the years, being an Auror should be easy!_

_Still, despite my abysmal performance in the Tournament, the Auror Office here offered me the opportunity to interview. But I turned it down. The idea of spending my life attacking and being attacked simply holds no appeal anymore. My mother keeps asking what I wish to do instead, and I am uncertain. I have been doing a bit of clerical work for some nearby business, but I think my patience for such activities will run out quickly._

_I also hope studying for your O.W.L.s is going well. We have similar examinations, and they are not particularly fun, but they will be very important for you. Your friend Hermione sounds quite sensible, make sure you listen to her._

_Write me when you are able, but don’t distract yourself too much from your studies!_

_Fleur_

The first few days Harry was in France he mostly relaxed at Fleur’s apartment, reveling in the most unusual feeling of not rushing to and fro. In the weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, he had become a strange combination of celebrity and unofficial Ministry adviser. He, Ron, and Hermione, in consultation with Kingsley had decided early on that they needed to control the narrative regarding the time they’d spent on the run. Speculation was already beginning, and they didn’t want someone like Rita Skeeter making up a wild version of their adventures. A few important details, such as the exact nature of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, were to be kept in the strictest of confidences. They would tell reporters that they had been hunting dangerous magical artifacts in order to weaken the Dark Lord. Close enough to the truth.

However, there was a considerable amount of time to cover, and they were determined to be as detailed as possible, which meant they also had to spend a considerable amount of time with several _Daily Prophet_ writers to recount the entire story. There were questions, clarifications, and then once they started writing, revisions. Kingsley wanted to make absolutely certain that the account was as accurate and thorough as possible, to the point that they found themselves line editing the proofs that the _Prophet_ had written.

Then there were the public appearances and tours. The way Kingsley had put it to Harry, people had been told that Voldemort died once before, and then he’d returned. Many, especially those who hadn’t fought in the Battle, needed reassurance that he was indeed gone for good this time. And they wanted to hear it from Harry himself. He somehow found himself as a sort of mascot for the newly reformed Ministry, rather the way Scrimgeour had once imagined. The difference this time, was that he was doing it for someone he actually respected and trusted.

Finally, he also ended up as part of Kingsley’s inner circle of advisors, a small collection of trusted Ministry officials, a couple Hogwarts professors, and Order of the Phoenix survivors. Voldemort had disbanded the board of governors for Hogwarts and made significant attempts to supplant the Wizengamot, which left a massive power vacuum in wizarding society. Kingsley’s group attempted to grapple with the many problems his regime had left behind, as well as long standing schisms that the war had brought to the fore. They discussed such questions such as whether Hogwarts houses should be disbanded entirely, the growing call for reparations to Muggleborns, strained relations with goblins, centaurs and other magical creatures, and a host of other issues Harry did not feel at all qualified to handle.

Kingsley figured out fairly quickly that Harry was not in a very good position to contribute much to these conversations but asked him privately to continue attending for a while. His rapidly growing status in the wizarding world necessitated his involvement in such activities, at least for a transitional period.

The combination of all these goings-on meant that Harry was often rushing from meeting to meeting from before breakfast until well into the night. He genuinely could not remember the last time he’d had even a _single_ day to himself, without the weight of something hanging over him. He took full advantage of it now, sleeping as long as he wanted and going where he liked.

Fleur was up and out of the apartment before Harry even woke most days. Her café was open for breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea, meaning she had to get there extremely early. While she was at work, Harry took the opportunity to explore Paris, wandering through the unfamiliar streets until he was so thoroughly lost he had to Apparte back to Fleur’s. In the evenings, they would share dinner and chat, Fleur steadfastly refusing to allow Harry to help with cooking, no matter how much he tried.

Their rapport improved steadily as they grew more accustomed to one another, although they continued to spend a great deal of time in silence, uncertain of what to say.

About a week after Harry’s arrival, he finally got to see her café. They waited until one of her days off, so that she wouldn’t have to worry about having to work. The café was located in Place Cachée, Paris’s equivalent of Diagon Alley. Aside from having a hidden entrance away from Muggle eyes however, the comparison ended there. Whereas Diagon Alley was rather messy and crowded, with jumbles of buildings pushed together haphazardly, Place Cachée was neat and elegant. There was a sense of precision and propriety that Harry did not typically associate with magic. Then again, he supposed, it was France.

They browsed a few stores before getting to Fleur’s restaurant, many of the offerings fascinating him with their contrast to the wares he was accustomed to. Fleur practically had to tear him away from the Quidditch shop, which was stocked far more thoroughly than even Quality Quidditch Supplies.

The café itself was decorated much like Fleur’s apartment, with soft, delicate colours that gave a sense of airiness and light. Above the door was a delicate gold sign that read _Café de Fleurs_.

Harry looked at Fleur quizzically. “You named it after yourself?”

Fleur sighed in exasperation. “It would be more accurate to say that I am named after the café. My parents met here.”

“That must get confusing,” he remarked with a grin.

“You have no idea,” she grumbled.”

The inside was set with many comfortable armchairs and numerous fresh flowers. There weren’t many customers, but Fleur seemed to know most of them and called out greetings as they entered.

She led him to a counter near the back, behind which was a young, brown haired woman whose face lit up when she saw them.

Fleur made introductions. “Harry, this is Aubrey, the manager for the café and an old classmate of mine. Aubrey, Harry.”

Aubrey smiled and held out her hand to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Fleur has told me so much about you, I feel we are the best of friends already!”

Harry was at a loss for how to respond; the lack of correspondence since Fleur took over the café meant he knew absolutely nothing about Aubrey. Luckily, her comment seemed to have been just a passing pleasantry, because she turned to Fleur before he could figure out what to say.

“Fleur, I know it is your day off, but…”

Fleur sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Michelle again?”

Aubrey nodded apologetically. “He is complaining about the new flour supplier. He says it is too dry for him to work with.”

“Of course he is.” With another sigh, Fleur looked at Harry. “I am very sorry, but I must deal with this or I will hear no end of it tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Harry rushed to assure her. “It’s not like I have an appointment after this or anything.

She smiled. “Thank you, Harry. I promise, I will finish as quickly as possible so we may see the Quidditch shop! Please take care of him for me, Aubrey,” she added as she made her way around the counter and into the back of the café.

“Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” Aubrey asked, moving him to a side of the counter with several chairs set up like a bar. “You could keep me company, business is slow today.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking a seat. “I was kind of surprised, honestly. The woman who met me at the travel office said it was a really popular spot.”

Aubrey smiled, as if she knew a joke she couldn’t share. “Ah, I’m guessing it was Charlotte. She comes by quite often. You are not likely to see her today,” she said, when Harry glanced around to see if he had spotted the kind witch.

“How come?”

“It is Fleur’s day off,” Aubrey responded simply as she slid a mug of steaming tea across the counter. “Many of our regulars prefer to save their money when Fleur is not working.”

“Ah, got it,” Harry replied, blowing steam off his mug and frowning slightly. “Fleur didn’t mention anything like that.”

“None of us do. It would be quite gauche, no? I only mention it to you as a caution of the welcome you will receive from some who entertain certain…hopes regarding our lovely friend.”

Harry grinned as he took a sip of his tea. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Aubrey returned his smile before something over Harry’s shoulder caught her eye and she straightened. She said something in French that Harry didn’t understand, but he imagined was along the lines of, “May I help you?”

“Yes,” a deep, masculine voice replied in heavily accented English. “May I presume from what I heard of your conversation, that this is the famous war hero, Harry Potter?”

Harry turned curiously. True to Fleur’s prediction, he had not been recognized thus far during his stay. A few of the passerby in Place Cachée had given him curious glances, but nothing like the double-takes and stares he was used to. This was the first time he’d actually been approached by anyone.

The man standing behind him was tall and regal looking. His robes were made of well-tailored silk, and he held himself ramrod straight with a tilt in his neck that immediately reminded Harry of the Malfoys.

“I’m not sure about war hero,” Harry said cautiously, wondering if he’d already run afoul of one of Fleur’s admirers. “But yeah, I’m Harry Potter. And you are…?”

“Lestrange,” the man said imperiously. “Esteban Lestrange.”

Harry stiffened, having to consciously stop himself from reaching for his wand. He reminded himself that the Lestranges were a very old wizarding family, with branches all across Europe. There was no telling what this particular scion of the family wanted with him just yet.

“And what can I do for you, Monsieur Lestrange?” Harry asked, trying his utmost to sound courteous.

Esteban Lestrange drew himself up. “I have heard that you fought many Dark Wizards in Britain. Death Eaters, I believe you call them. You testified repeatedly regarding my distant cousin, Rodolphous and his wife Bellatrix. According to you, they were willing accomplices of Lord Voldemort, and assisted him in his many atrocities.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, not sure what Esteban was driving at with his questions. It was a matter of long-standing public record after all. “That’s right. Bellatrix was one of his closest allies. They both tried to kill me multiple times and did a lot worse to some of my friends and their families.”

Before he had time to react, Esteban Lestrange had stepped forward and given Harry a sharp, backhanded slap across the face. The blow surprised Harry more than it really hurt, but Aubrey let out a small shriek behind him.

“How dare you besmirch the good name of the Lestrange family!” Esteban snarled, his eyes slits. “No member of my family would ever participate in such terrible evil of their own free will. Clearly they were under the influence of the Imperius Curse, yet you seek to tarnish their memories with your vile lies!”

The few occupants of the café had fallen quiet, eyes glued to the confrontation developing in front of them. Aubrey rushed around the counter. “I am going to have to ask you to leave, Monsieur Lestrange! This man is a guest of our owner.”

Esteban Lestrange paid her no mind, but he took a step back when Harry stood up. His cheek stung from where he’d been struck, and blood thundered in his ears. It took all his willpower not to launch himself physically at the man.

“Your cousin and his wife,” Harry said, his voice deadly quiet, “were two of the most evil people I’ve ever met. They tortured my friend’s parents into insanity and killed dozens more. The world is better off without them in it, and you’re just as crazy as they were if you can’t see that.”

Esteban’s eyes widened furiously, and he drew his wand. “I will hear no more of your filthy mistruths! I demand you duel me this moment in defense of my family’s honour!”

Aubrey looked like she was bordering on panic, and the assembled onlookers seemed equally shocked. For his part, Harry was more than ready to wipe the smirk off Esteban Lestrange’s face. He had no doubt he’d faced far more dangerous foes than this self-important git. But before he could open his mouth to accept the challenge, there was a bang from behind him.

“ENOUGH!”

Suddenly, Esteban Lestrange was lying on his back, his wand clattering across the floor. Harry looked around, and his jaw dropped when he saw Fleur silhouetted in the door from the café’s kitchen. Incandescent fury poured off of her, and the air around her literally seemed to crackle, as if it might burst into flames at any moment. Abruptly, Harry remembered that she was a quarter-veela and realized his metaphor might very well become reality.

She stalked around the counter and towards the prone Lestrange, her inhuman grace appearing far more ominous than it ever had. Harry thought he had rarely seen anyone so incredibly angry. Then her eyes feel on his cheek, which must have born some kind of mark from where Esteban hit him, and she grew, if anything, even more enraged. The snarl she gave as she turned on the man was that of a predator, and his expression was no longer smug and indignant.

“How dare you!” she barked at him, sparks flying from her wand to scorch his immaculate robes. “You come into MY place of business and insult MY friend! You prove every foul thing said about your disgusting family!”

“Madame Delacour-” Esteban Lestrange began, puffing up slightly

“QUIET!” She snapped, and he fell silent as if she’d cut his vocal cords. “I am sorely tempted to allow you to carry out this foolish duel and show you why Harry defeated the greatest Dark Wizard of our age! But luckily for you, I do not believe in such uncivilized displays. Get out of my restaurant! And do not ever dare to return!”

Lestrange looked like he desperately wanted to argue, but Fleur’s fury had cowed him. With a short, resentful nod he stood and retrieved his wand. He cast one last angry look at Harry before fleeing the café.

Once he was gone, Fleur lowered her wand, breathing heavily. She glanced around at the remaining customers, who suddenly had better places to look, before turning and leaning her palms heavily against the counter.

“Je suis vraiment désolé,” Aubrey said, looking distraught. “I knew it was Esteban, but I did not think he would cause such a scene! I didn’t know what to do!”

“It is alright, Aubrey,” Fleur said, not looking up. “His poor behavior is not your fault. I should have expected something like this; he has always had more pride than sense.”

Harry sat back down, feeling his initial anger drain out of him. It seemed oddly unsafe to hold onto his indignation while Fleur still looked like she wanted to tear someone’s throat out. At least _one_ of them ought to keep a cool head, he figured.

“So, what was that about not getting recognized?” he asked with his best crooked smile.

Fleur glanced over at him and gave a reluctant huff of laughter. “I am very sorry, Harry. I should have warned you about him; Esteban Lestrange has been quite critical of you for some time now, ever since you announced the return of the Dark Lord. I have told him to keep his politics out of my café, but apparently he could not resist the opportunity with you in front of him.”

He shrugged easily. “It’s been a while since someone tried to duel me, I was starting to feel a bit weird. I was gonna to take him up on it. Would that have been a bad idea?”

Fleur snorted. “For him, yes. Esteban fancies himself as a force to be reckoned with. In reality he could not disarm a blind peacock.”

Harry chuckled. “You’ve known him for a while?”

She nodded. “He was in our year at Beauxbatons. Always strutting about like his name made him better than the rest of us. I hear he was quite insufferable when he was not chosen to accompany us to Hogwarts to try out for the Tournament.”

“He was,” Aubrey said fervently. “He complained the _entire_ year, especially once he heard you both had been chosen as champions.”

Fleur sighed. “I imagine he had many things to say when I lost.”

“I assure you, no one was listening,” Aubrey said earnestly, causing Fleur to smile slightly.

“Thank you, Aubrey.” She straightened and turned to Harry. Her brows knit as she looked at his cheek again, reaching out a hand to touch it lightly. “How bad does this hurt?”

Harry felt warmth that was entirely unrelated to the pain in his cheek spread across his face. “It’s not that bad. I’ve had way worse.” That was very true; compared to some of his injuries a mere slap on the face hardly registered.

Fleur still looked concerned. “We can return home and put some ice on it, if that would help?”

“I’m honestly fine, Fleur,” he insisted, starting to feel a bit embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal, we shouldn’t let it ruin the day.”

She took a deep breath, as if trying to force a sense of calm into her body. “You are right of course, there are still many things for you to see. Let us try to put it out of our minds.”

After thanking a still nervous looking Aubrey, Harry and Fleur went back out into Place Cachée proper.

As they continued wandering, Harry could tell that Fleur was trying her very best to act cheerful for his sake. But when she didn’t think he was looking, her expression immediately crumpled into a frown. When they eventually stopped for lunch at a pub, she barely said a word, picking at her food absently. Silences were not unusual, they still sometimes struggled to figure out what to say to one another, but this time it was clear that there was more on her mind from the way she was staring off into nowhere.

He debated various ways of getting her to open up, but this wasn’t like talking to Ron or Hermione. He didn’t have almost a decade’s worth of experience figuring out her moods. So he opted for the direct approach.

“You look like something’s bugging you,” he said. “Still thinking about Lestrange?”

Fleur’s gaze came back into focus. “Non, not precisely,” she replied. “I was thinking about the war.”

A pleasant topic then. “How much did you all hear about what went on?”

“Only fragments,” she said. “With travel shut down, there was very little communication, but occasionally a witch or wizard would flee across the Channel by broom, seeking asylum. Usually a Muggleborn. They told the most horrible stories of how they were treated under Voldemort’s regime. Put on trial for simply having magic, chased and tortured by Death Eaters. Even after all you had told me, it was hard to believe it was real.”

Harry sighed glumly. “It felt like everything got turned upside down. Still does, sometimes. It’s hard to imagine things ever going back to normal.”

Fleur looked at him hesitantly. “I have something I wanted to ask you, Harry, but you do not need to answer if it would be too painful to think about.”

Feeling a rising sense of trepidation, Harry nodded.

Fleur took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Were you injured during the war?”

“Oh.” Harry was surprised by the question; he’d been expecting something far more invasive. “Um, yeah I suppose. A few times.”

“Would it be too much to ask how?” Fleur’s expression was uncertain but oddly determined.

“No, I guess not.” Harry had to think for a moment to recall the various hurts he’d received over the past year. “If we’re thinking about just the war itself, then I guess the big one would be getting bitten by Voldemort’s snake. Its poison was pretty nasty, I was out for a couple of days. I got burned around that time too.” He refrained from going into the details, which involved Slytherin’s locket, but pulled the neck of his shirt down to show the oval shaped scar on the top of his chest. “Almost drowned once, but that was my fault. Got some pretty bad cuts from riding a dragon. A lot of scrapes and bruises and stuff during the battle too, not sure if that counts.” He deliberately left out sort of dying in the Forbidden Forest, not even a little sure how to explain such a thing.

Fleur looked like she was fighting back tears at the end of his recitation. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Harry.”

Harry frowned when she didn’t say anything else. “What’s going on, Fleur? Why would you want to know about all that?”

Fleur took a long time in answering, and after a while Harry thought she simply wouldn’t. Eventually, not looking at him, she said, “I am…reminding myself of the cost of inaction.”

Harry arched an eyebrow at this cryptic reply. “I know we haven’t spent that much time around each other, Fleur, but you’ve gotta know I’m not that perceptive. I’m gonna need a bit more than that.”

“You are quite perceptive, Harry, do not demean yourself in such a way.” She took another deep breath and met his gaze. “I spent much of your sixth year wondering if I should come join your Order of the Phoenix and fight with you. Especially after I quit Healer training and Isaac left me, I had no reason not to. But I was afraid, and I could not make up my mind. By the time I decided I would do it, Voldemort had taken over, you had vanished, and the Ministry shut down all travel. I could not get a Portkey, no matter how hard I begged the officials, and I cannot ride a broom to save my life.”

Angry tears started falling down her cheeks. “It is shameful that I did not go to you during a time when you needed friends the most. I should not have hesitated, I should have left for England the moment I could! You and many others have suffered because I did not. I should not forget that.”

It took Harry a moment to put together a coherent response, partially because the thought of Fleur placing herself in the middle of such danger elicited a surge of fear so strong it temporarily robbed him of speech. Once he managed to remember that the war was over, and they were speaking of what ifs, he was confronted with the difficult task of figuring out how to get her to stop beating herself up over something so far beyond her control.

“Fleur, I really appreciate that you wanted to help,” he said, paying careful attention to each word, “but with what we were up against, there was really only so much you could have done.”

That, it turned out, had been the wrong thing to say. Fleur’s already distressed expression turned hurt. “I know I am not much of a fighter, Harry, but surely I could have done _something_ to aid you and the others? I learned _some_ healing magic at any rate.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Harry said, mentally cursing himself. “Trust me, I’d be _more_ than happy to have you next to me in a fight. It’s that, with what we were doing, me, Hermione, and Ron, there wasn’t really much place for other people.”

The lines on Fleur’s face softened towards confusion. “I don’t understand. I read the story about your search for Dark artefacts. Surely another wand would have been welcome in such an endeavor? I assumed the three of you were on your own merely by circumstance?”

Harry hesitated, not sure how much he should reveal. “That’s what we wanted people to think,” he said eventually. “There were…other reasons we didn’t let anyone else help. Even if you had been there, we wouldn’t have been able to take you with us.”

“Why not?”

The simple question, stated so calmly and bluntly, brought Harry up short. “Why not? Well, because we made a promise. To Dumbledore. Not to tell anyone what we’d found out.”

Fleur looked at him skeptically. “And why was it his decision to make?”

Harry had never thought of it in those terms. “Well, um, I don’t know. I suppose it would have been really dangerous to tell anyone else.”

“But surely the danger has passed,” Fleur pressed. “Is there some reason you cannot share it with me now?”

There were actually many reasons, some of them very good. In all of British wizarding society, the only people who knew the depths of Voldemort’s evil were Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kingsley. The only reason they’d agreed to take Kingsley into their confidence was because they needed his support and influence to make sure they prevented anyone from trying to copy Voldemort’s actions. In all of recorded history, Voldemort was the only Dark Wizard who had dared to split his soul more than once, and they all feared what would happen if other would-be Dark Lords learned that such a thing was possible. They agreed to hide this secret, a burden for them alone.

But Harry found he was tired of the burden of secrets. It felt as if he’d been holding so many for years now, from the prophecy to the Horcruxes to even the Hallows. He was sick of it always being on his shoulders. Still, he knew he couldn’t just let Fleur walk blithely into such terrible knowledge unaware.

“If you really want to know, I’ll tell you,” he said, his voice low and serious. “But you should know that besides me, there are only three other people alive who I’ve shared this with, and _only_ because I had no other choice. We agreed to take it to our graves, and if I share it with you, then you’ll have to as well. It can never be public knowledge, and you have to swear you won’t tell another soul as long as you live. Or even if you become a ghost. Do you still want to know?”

Fleur didn’t hesitate a moment. “Yes. You should not have to suffer this burden alone. If I could not help before, then I will help now.”

A sense of inevitability settled over Harry. He stood from their table. “Alright, but not here. Let’s head back to your place.”

A few minutes later, they were back in Fleur’s apartment, surrounded by flowers and paintings. Harry paced the small sitting room, his nerves alight. He wondered briefly if he should have consulted Ron, Hermione, and Kingsley before offering to share so many secrets with Fleur, before discarding the notion. This had always been his battle. _He_ would choose who to share it with.

“You might wanna get comfortable,” he told Fleur, although he made no move to sit down. “This’ll probably take a while.”

Fleur settled herself dutifully onto the couch, looking up at him steadily.

“Alright then. For all this to make sense, we’re going to have to go back a ways. To a town called Little Hangleton, not long before Grindelwald tried to take over the American Ministry…”

***

It took the rest of the afternoon to properly bring Fleur up to speed on the many secrets they had uncovered about Voldemort’s life, the prophecy that had driven him to kill Harry’s family, and the year Harry, Ron, and Hermione had spent hunting down his Horcruxes. He even told her about the legend of the Deathly Hallows, although he left their nature ambiguous. Focus on the most relevant details, he figured.

Fleur was attentive and sympathetic, asking many detailed questions, some of which he didn’t have answers for, such as who Voldemort used to create several of his early Horcruxes. Somewhere along the line, perhaps around when he got to the part about Bathilda Bagshot in Godric’s Hollow, Fleur opened up a bottle of Firewhisky. The alcohol helped steady Harry’s nerves, especially when he told her about their capture and brief imprisonment in Malfoy Manor. Fleur held his hand tightly as he recounted Hermione’s torture, and Dobby’s death at the hands of Esteban’s cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

By the time he’d finished with his story and Voldemort’s death, his voice was hoarse and he was exhausted, but the sharing made his heart feel light, as if a weight had been lifted off of him. He sat back on the sofa and took a sip from his wine, giving both him and Fleur time to process.

After a while, Fleur sat down her glass and twisted to face him fully. “Thank you for sharing all this with me, Harry. I feel very honoured that you trust me with such information. I promise I will not betray your confidences. However, there is one thing I am still curious about.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing you told me explains why I could not have accompanied the three of you to look for these Horcruxes?”

Harry gave a full, completely involuntary belly laugh before looking at Fleur incredulously. “You’re kidding right? Dumbledore told us not to tell _anyone_. You’d have to have glued yourself to one of us with magic to come along.”

Fleur favoured him with a deceptively sweet smile. “I don’t think you quite understand the situation, Harry. Once I have made up my mind, I do not change it. You may think you are stubborn, but you are _nothing_ compared to me.”

Harry smirked at her. “Somehow, I have a hard time seeing you camping. Would you have taken top bunk?”

“You said it was cold, no?” Fleur replied immediately, her tone uncharacteristically coquettish. “Perhaps I would have cuddled up next to you for warmth.”

Harry coughed into his glass, a heat that had nothing to do with alcohol spreading through his body. “Hermione and Ron might not have appreciated that,” he muttered.

“You mean they were not sharing a bed themselves?” she asked in surprise. When Harry shook her head, she looked even more confused. “But they have been interested in one another for years? There was more sexual tension between them during the Yule Ball than I have ever seen!”

Harry felt like his face might catch fire soon. “How in the world did you know that? You didn’t even know us back then!”

Fleur shrugged nonchalantly. “It is a Veela thing. Romantic desire is always easy for us to detect.” Her smile became teasing. “It is how I knew you were pining for Cho Chang long before you admitted it to me.”

He groaned loudly, covering his face. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“It is truly not that shameful,” Fleur said sympathetically. “We all make fools of ourselves for love when we are young.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get to see _you_ do it,” Harry pointed out.

“Very true,” Fleur said with a great deal of satisfaction.

“Do you mind if I ask you about your abilities?” Harry said, partly to change the subject, but also to satisfy a long-standing curiosity.

She smiled. “It would be quite rude of me to refuse, after everything you just shared with me. I assume you mean my _Veela_ abilities?”

At Harry’s nod she settled back with her glass. “I am sure you are aware of my people’s capacity to draw the attention of others. As is probably apparent, the attraction only works on those who are already inclined to appreciate our form. A man who prefers the company of other men would not notice my appeal, although they might respond more strongly to a male Veela or one of my more masculine kin. Of course, the strength of the attraction varies greatly from person to person. Your friend Ron seems a little more susceptible than _you_ , for example.” Her eyes narrowed playfully, as if she were suspicious of him.

Harry ignored her last teasing comment and focused on the slew of new questions this information brought up. He supposed he shouldn’t be shocked that there were male Veela, but the news took him by surprise, given that the only Veela he’d seen were women.

“How much can you control it?” he asked.

“Me personally, or Veela in general? Never mind, I can tell you both. Most full blooded Veela have a great deal of control over their powers. You were at the Quidditch World Cup with Bulgaria, yes? Their abilities work much like any spell we cast. However, because I am not a full Veela it is much harder. Depending on my mood, it can be very difficult to manage.”

“Speaking of full Veela, can you also, you know…?” Harry trailed off awkwardly.

“Turn into an enormous bird and summon the fires of the underworld?” she finished matter-of-factly. “Why, are you worried I will incinerate you and eat your bones if you anger me?”

“Well, I wasn’t before…” Harry said uncertainly. “I was thinking about Esteban actually. You looked a little like you were planning to roast him on a spit.”

Her expression darkened. “The thought occurred to me, but I would have to do it more conventionally.” She shook her head, as if ridding herself of the memory. “I do not have the same powers, although I have a talent for fire magic. And my mother is an Animagus, she found the transformation much easier than most. Gabby is young so we do not know it she has any particular aptitudes yet.”

“Are there a lot of part Veela like you and your family?”

“Not as many as you might imagine,” Fleur said. “Veela have not always had good relationships with humans. We were particularly persecuted before the International Statute of Secrecy; Muggles thought we were demons. Many of us prefer to keep to ourselves.”

“But your grandmother married a wizard?” Harry asked curiously.

“She fell in love,” Fleur said simply. “Nothing else matters when the heart is involved.”

Harry might be young, but he’d been around long enough to know just how true that was.


	4. Dinner with the Delacours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're rapidly approaching the end of what I have written, but I'll try to pull together the last few chapters so there's not a big disruption in posting. Happy reading!

In the coming weeks, Harry continued to explore Paris and Place Cachée in particular. He was reminded of the summer after his thirteenth birthday, when he had lived for several weeks in Diagon Alley before returning to Hogwarts. That was the only other time in his life when he had felt as unencumbered, able to go where he wished and do what he wished without restrictions or responsibilities.

He always stopped in at Fleur’s café, usually for at least a couple hours. Fleur was often too busy to give him much attention, but he struck up a friendship with Aubrey and several of the other staff. Eventually he was introduced to their chef, Michelle, who was easily the grumpiest human being Harry had ever met in his life. He was also approached several more times by customers who had recognized him, although never in as dramatic a fashion as Esteban’s confrontation. These interactions were infrequent enough to avoid being irritating. However, Fleur always checked in with Harry afterwards to make sure he was alright.

In fact, he began to feel a bit guilty at the way Fleur worked so hard to make him comfortable and happy. He started trying to be more insistent about helping out, to mixed success. A couple times he tried to get meals ready before Fleur got home. However, anytime she walked through the door to find Harry in the kitchen, she gave a great sigh and her eyes rolled so far back into her head she looked possessed.

“I am very sorry, Harry,” she would say, “but the English are not good at cooking. I may be part Veela, but even _my_ hips can only handle so many pies.”

However, she did start allowing him to help prep ingredients, after teasing him repeatedly for his utter inability to chop anything neatly with magic.

He also worked on cleaning, which was a bit more challenging, given that he’d never really cleaned with magic, and Fleur obviously didn’t have Muggle cleaning products. At first, he simply thought to find a household spellbook in Place Cachée. However, he failed to take into account the fact that he didn’t speak French, and the shopkeeper knew about four words of English, none of which were the ones Harry needed. Eventually, he realized he could just ask Aubrey, who laughed uproariously when he recounted his wildly unproductive interactions with the bookstore owner.

It took her longer to figure out that he was surreptitiously cleaning while she wasn’t home. One day, a couple weeks into his stay, she marched into his bedroom, wand in hand, looking perplexed.

“Have you been cleaning the apartment without telling me, Harry?” she asked without preamble.

“Um, yeah,” he replied, looking apprehensively at her wand.

“Why?” she said bluntly.

“Cuz I wanted to help?” Harry said meekly.

Her eyes narrowed, and she regarded him long enough to make him start sweating. “Very well,” she said eventually, before turning to leave.

“Wait,” he called after her. “How’d you know?”

“My bedroom needed dusting, but the rest of the apartment did not,” Fleur told him. “I gather you were not going in there?”

“Well, no, it seemed kind of like an invasion of privacy,” he said. “I mean, I can start, if you want me to?”

Fleur shook her head with a slight smile. “Non. A lady must have _some_ secrets, after all.”

Which gave Harry a _lot_ of new questions he had no way of answering.

She refused however, no matter what he said, to allow him to contribute financially in any way. Harry thought he had pretty good reflexes, but he’d never seen anyone move as fast as Fleur snatching the bill from a waiter at a restaurant. He tried once to pay in advance, only to find that Fleur had somehow anticipated this move and convinced the waiter not to let him.

The one time he even dared suggest that he should help with rent while he was staying with her, she gave him a scandalized look as if he’d suggested they both sell themselves into centaur prostitution.

“C’mon, there’s gotta be _something_ more I can help with!” Harry exclaimed at one point after she found a small purse of Galleons he’d attempted to hide in an end table. “I’ve been crashing here for weeks and I’m barely contributing.”

“You are not _supposed_ to be contributing!” Fleur replied heatedly. “You’re here to relax and _enjoy_ yourself!”

“I _am_ enjoying myself!” he retorted. “At _your_ expense. Seriously, what do you get out of me freeloading off of you?”

“What I _get_ is not being constantly _alone_!” she snapped angrily. “I get the companionship of the best friend I have _ever_ had!”

That brought Harry up short. Their friendship had grown over the past few years into one of the most significant and stable relationships in Harry’s life, but he hadn’t suspected that it would have been so important to Fleur. If anything, given how much he had vented and complained to her over the years, he’d been certain that he was getting much more out of their friendship than she was.

From the delicate pink blush spreading across her cheeks, Harry gathered that she had not meant to say so much. She muttered something about having a project to do in her room and retreated for the rest of the evening. Neither of them mentioned the exchange the next day, but there was a bit of uncertainty between them that made clear it was still in both their minds.

Shortly after this, the open invitation Fleur’s parents had extended to join them for an evening became much less nebulous.

“They are being rather insistent now,” Fleur told Harry after opening the latest bit of post one evening. “There is a note from Gabby here that if we do not visit soon, she will set my childhood belongings on fire.”

Harry opted for a chuckle, not sure how serious this threat was. “Sorry if I’ve been keeping you away from them.”

Fleur shrugged guiltily. “In fairness, I usually join them for dinner more often than I have been of late. But I did not wish to leave you alone in a strange city so soon after you arrived.”

“Well we shouldn’t risk Gabby destroying your stuff,” Harry grinned. “I’m up for it whenever you are.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Fleur said, taking out a quill to write a response. “It will not be painful, I assure you. I have been told my parents are very easy to get along with.”

That Friday, after Fleur closed up the café, they Apparated to the Delacour residence, a beautiful chateau outside Paris.

“You never mentioned your family was rich,” Harry said as they walked up the drive, which was lined with exquisitely designed topiary.

“I wasn’t sure if you knew,” Fleur replied. “The Delacours have been wine makers for many generations. Our vintages are very popular all around the world. We even sell to some non-magical distributors, although we must be cautious.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “So you see, I do not need the extra money, I am doing quite well as it is.”

Harry rolled his eyes; she had refused to let the matter drop, bringing it up at every possible instance.

Approaching the grand doors of Chateau Delacour, Harry couldn’t help but compare it to Malfoy Manor, if for no other reason than because it was the only other magical residence he’d seen of similar size. But while Malfoy Manor had been a forbidding, almost gothic structure made of dark stone, Chateau Delacour was more reminiscent of a Greek temple, with white marble columns framing the entry. Far less ominous.

He was thankful for the contrast, as he was nervous enough already. It had occurred to him that he had rarely met his friends’ parents, partly because he’d had none until the age of eleven, and thereafter he had been in a magical boarding school nine months out of the year. Mrs. Weasley had been so kind and welcoming, but he wasn’t sure what the Delacours would be like. And despite Fleur’s assurances, he worried they might think he was trying to court Fleur.

Luckily, Fleur seemed to notice none of his trepidation. In fact, the closer they got to the house, the more excited she grew, and she took the steps up to the door three at a time. For some reason, he’d expected her to knock, and ended up having to rush after her into the large entryway.

“Maman, Papa! Nous sommes ici!” she called out, dashing immediately through a door to the left.

Harry, who’d been busy staring at the huge, ornate portrait of the Delacour family that dominated the first-floor landing directly opposite the entrance, didn’t notice Fleur was gone right away.

“Fleur?” he said tentatively, looking around and immediately getting confused by the half dozen or so doors lining the walls. “Uh, Fleur?”

The only sound was his own voice echoing around the foyer. He looked back up at the family portrait, all of whom were smiling genially down at him.

“Any chance you saw where she went?” he asked.

The plump man with a pointed black goatee he presumed was Fleur’s father frowned ever so slightly and said, “Je suis désolé, nous ne parlons pas anglais,” which could have been the most elaborate directions Harry had ever heard, but did absolutely nothing to help him.

Before he could decide what he should do next, there was a huge bang from nearby, followed by the loudest, shrillest, “HARRY!” he had ever heard in his life and the next moment he’d had all the breath knocked out of him by something small and shockingly strong. Struggling to stay upright, he looked down and saw the top of a bright blonde head of hair.

“Gabby?” he guessed.

The youngest Delacour looked up at him, bright blue eyes shining. “You remember me?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, starting to recover. “You don’t exactly forget dragging someone out of a lake of merpeople.”

Gabby beamed before stepping back and glancing down shyly. “I’m so happy you’re here, I thought Fleur was never going to bring you!”

“Well I did, so let the poor man go before you suffocate him.” Fleur finally reemerged from wherever she’d gone, smiling wider than Harry had ever seen. Trailing her was a woman and man Harry recognized from their portrait. “Harry, you obviously know my very annoying little sister.” She smirked at Gabby, who stuck her tongue out at her older sister. “I would love you to meet my mother, Apolline and my father Jacques.”

Apolline Delacour moved with the same ethereal grace as both her daughters, and her features might have been described as haughty if it weren’t for the warm smile she wore as she extended a hand to Harry.

“It is quite lovely to meet you, Harry,” she said.

“You as well, Mademoiselle Delacour,” Harry said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Please, just Apolline,” Mrs. Delacour said kindly. “Fleur is the formal one in the family, you need not stand on ceremony with the rest of us.”

“Maman!” Fleur said indignantly.

“Well it is true,” Apolline replied serenely as Jacques approached Harry. Unlike his wife and daughters, he was a small man, whose manner was buoyant and excited, as if he was filled with uncontainable energy.

“A pleasure, Harry,” he said jovially, his voice much deeper than Harry had anticipated. “I hope you will excuse me, but I must finish preparing our supper. Please make yourself comfortable in our home!”

As he bounced off towards what Harry presumed was the kitchen, Apolline turned to her youngest child. “Now, Gabrielle, aren’t you supposed to be helping your father?”

“But I want to talk to Harry!” Gabby pouted.

“You will have plenty of time to spend with him once dinner is prepared,” Apolline said. “Now run along before Papa adds too much garlic to the risotto.”

Gabby made a face but allowed her mother to push her after her father. Fleur and Apolline then led Harry through yet another door and a hallway adorned with many more portraits of Delacours until they reached a richly appointed sitting room.

“May I offer you a drink, Harry?” Apolline asked, moving over to a bar set along one wall. “We have wine of course, but if that is not your preference…?”

“No, wine’s good,” Harry said. Truthfully, he’d only had wine a couple times, but it seemed like the proper choice in the house of winemakers. To his surprise though, when Apolline brought him a crystal glass filled hallway with a deep red, she also handed Fleur a tumbler of amber coloured liquid that he doubted very much was wine.

“My daughter does not partake of our livelihood,” Apolline said with a teasing smile as she caught Harry’s expression. “She says it tastes as if something has rotted.”

“That is literally what happens when you make wine, Maman,” Fleur said. “You allow grapes to rot and then for some reason you drink it.”

Apolline arched an eyebrow, a glint in her eye. “I am sure you are making Harry quite excited to try his wine.”

Fleur winced and shot an apologetic glance at Harry, who was struggling to suppress a grin. Given the way that Fleur could often be a bit uptight, he hadn’t expected her family to be so easy going.

“So, Harry,” Apolline said, evidently taking a break from teasing her daughter, “how are you liking Paris? You have never been before, no?”

“No, I haven’t and it’s beautiful,” Harry answered honestly. “I was surprised, it’s a lot different than England.”

Apolline smiled. “Yes it is, although I have not had the pleasure of visiting London in quite some time. You should, however, make sure Fleur takes you to see Beauxbatons while you are here. You will find it quite the contrast to Hogwarts.”

“She’s mentioned something like that,” Harry said, shooting a smirk at Fleur.

Apolline picked up on his tone quickly. “I can imagine. We received quite a few disgruntled letters the year she spent there. She still does not understand Gabrielle’s fascination with the place.”

Fleur took a dignified sip from her tumbler. “It is not a terrible school, I simply have different…preferences than Gabby.”

“Indeed,” Apolline said, her smile widening.

“Fleur said Gabby wanted to go to Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“Yes indeed, and we would not normally have objected, but given recent events…” Apolline’s expression turned serious. “Well, we simply could not risk it. She was quite unhappy with us for a time.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you made the right call,” Harry said. “Any other time I’d have said it’s a great place to go to school. But with the Death Eaters running the place like they were…”

“It would not have been good,” Fleur agreed. “She will come to appreciate Beauxbatons.”

“Even if she never admits it to any of us,” Apolline added wryly.

At that moment, the very subject of their conversation bounded into the room. She smiled brightly at Harry before addressing the whole room. “Papa says the first course will be ready in a moment.”

“Thank you, Gabrielle.” Apolline stood. “Do you need help setting the table?”

Gabby rolled her eyes. “I know how to set a table, Maman. Will you sit next to me, Harry?” She seized his hand tightly and he felt he had no choice but to agree, ignoring Fleur’s amused smirk.

The Delacours’ dining room was as decadent as every other part of their house, with a chandelier of goblin made crystal that shifted colour hanging over the table. Gabby pulled Harry over to a seat in the middle, opposite Fleur. Just as they were sitting down, Jacques Delacour entered the room, a set of plates hovering in front of his outstretched wand.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he pronounced theatrically. “For our first course, may I present to you a steak tartare with red wine vinaigrette!”

Fleur frowned at her father as the plates gently settled onto the table. “Papa, I told you not to make anything too unusual for Harry. He is only just getting used to French food.”

“Then where better to start than a good tartare!” Jacques replied enthusiastically, entirely undeterred.

Fleur sighed and looked across the table at Harry. “You do not need to eat anything you do not wish to, Harry. My father cannot be controlled once he is in a kitchen.”

Harry smiled reassuringly. “It’s fine, honestly. It looks fantastic, Monsieur Delacour.”

Fleur’s father waved his hands feverishly as he sat. “Non, non, please call me Jacques, my dear boy. As Apolline told you, Fleur is the formal one in the family.”

Gabby giggled at the exaggerated eye roll Fleur gave at that.

Dinner with the Delacours was surprisingly similar to eating at the Weasley’s. While the food was much fancier, Jacques, Apolline, and Gabby conversed just as freely and happily. Even Fleur began to loosen up as it became clear that Harry was enjoying himself.

“You must share with us how reconstruction is proceeding, Harry,” Jacques said, and all eyes at the table turned to Harry.

“Slowly,” Harry admitted. “Voldemort left a lot of scars. I doubt things’ll be back to normal for a long time.”

“War is absolutely terrible,” Apolline said soberly. “So much suffering for the sake of a few evil people. I only hope England is finally able to find peace.”

“Fleur told us you were offered a place with the Aurors?” Jacques inquired. “Do you think you will be accepting?”

“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth,” Harry admitted. “It was all I really wanted to do, before the war, but now, well…”

Jacques nodded sympathetically. “I understand, my boy. It is much different after you have seen true battle. Fleur felt much the same after competing in the Tournament.”

Fleur’s expression was a bit distant during the exchange, and Harry tried to think of some other topic to discuss. But before he could, Gabby spoke up.

“Will you tell us some stories from the war?” she asked, her face bright with excitement. “You must have fought in so many thrilling battles!”

The mood around the table immediately dropped a couple degrees. Fleur frowned at her little sister, while Jacques coughed delicately.

“That is not really an appropriate request, Gabrielle,” Apolline said in a gently chastising voice.

Gabby’s expression turned confused. “Why not? How is it different than when Fleur tells stories about the Tournament?”

As her parents struggled to come up with an answer for the inquisitive girl, Harry abruptly realized that Gabby was the same age he had been just after he’d first faced Voldemort. It shook him deeply to realize how much he’d already experienced by the time of his twelfth birthday.

“Because Fleur _chose_ to enter the tournament,” Harry said, looking at Gabby steadily. “It was supposed to be just a game. Dangerous at times, but no one was meant to get hurt. War is different. It’s not fun or entertaining, it’s terrifying. You’re right, I fought in a lot of battles, but only so other people wouldn’t have to. If you’re still curious about it, I’m sure Fleur can share some of the things I’ve told her, but this isn’t really the right time. Okay?”

Gabby looked pensive as she nodded.

“Thank you, Harry,” Apolline murmured softly, while across the table, Fleur smiled widely, her eyes glistening.

The rest of dinner passed pleasantly. Gabby quickly recovered and was her chipper self again, and conversation turned to happier topics. The next Quidditch World Cup was due to be held in a month’s time, and Harry had been so out of the loop he had no idea who was playing. Jacques and Gabby, who were the Delacours’ biggest Quidditch fans, were more than happy to fill him in on what he’d missed.

After one of the most incredible meals of his life, Jacques suggested retiring to the patio for after dinner drinks and conversation. Harry was surprised to see a small Quidditch pitch set up in the Delacours’ expansive backyard.

“Papa built it when I was a child,” Fleur explained. “He thought I would take after my mother and be a great flyer.”

Jacques chuckled as he settled himself into an armchair. “Who has ever heard of a Veela who is afraid of heights? Luckily your sister came along.”

Gabby seized Fleur’s hand and began dragging her to the pitch. “Let me show you what I’ve learned,” she said excitedly. “Maman, guard the goals!”

Apolline exchanged an amused smile with her husband before joining her daughters. A minute later, Gabby was zooming around, trying to get a Quaffle past Apolline while Fleur watched from the safety of solid ground.

“She hopes to try out for Chaser this year,” Jacques said as Harry took a seat next to him. “I believe she would make an excellent Beater, she quite likes hitting things. However, she insists Beaters are not nearly as glamorous. Repeatedly. And loudly.”

Harry grinned. “She might change her mind after she gets hit with a couple Bludgers.”

“Indeed,” Jacques agreed.

“Do you play?” Harry asked.

“Me? Oh no, I am an abysmal flyer,” Jacques said happily. “I am quite content appreciating the game from the stands. How about yourself?”

Harry suppressed a wry smile. “A bit.”

On the pitch, Gabby managed to score a goal, and Harry, Fleur, and Jacques applauded while she did a victory lap. Fleur glanced back at the patio and flashed a dazzling smile at Harry before turning back to her mother and sister.

Jacques considered Harry cheerfully over the rim of his wine glass. “She is in love with you, you know.”

He said it so casually that it took a moment for Harry to register the words. “Wait, what?” he said in confusion. “You mean Fleur?”

Jacques gave a great belly laugh. “Of course, Fleur, who else? Certainly not Apolline, unless there is something she has yet to share with me. And Gabby I suppose, although that is more the way a child loves their hero. No, Fleur loves you in truth.”

Harry struggled to find the words to respond. He felt rather like a Bludger had hit _him_ in the head. “But, how do you know?” he eventually managed to ask. “Has she said something to you?”

“She does not need to,” Jacques said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She is my daughter, I know her. And I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she is quite in love with you.”

Harry stared out at Fleur as if he’d never seen her before. “But, we’re just friends. We’ve _always_ just been friends.”

“Friendships may grow into something more,” Jacques replied sagely. “In my experience, love at first sight is quite rare. Many times, love blossoms from the most unlikely of places. You can imagine my surprise when I first caught Apolline’s eye.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry tried to summon something resembling a coherent thought out of his seemingly Confunded brain. All that he managed was, “But…”

Jacques leaned forward and patted Harry sympathetically on the knee. “I do not mean to interfere with your friendship by telling you this. In fact, I am sure Fleur would be quite unhappy with me. However, I am a selfish man, I want my daughter to be happy. And I know she is too prideful to tell her yourself.

“Take some time,” he said as he leaned back. “Consider your own feelings. Love is something to be taken seriously, and it may be that you do not feel the same way. Or perhaps you see your future being home in England. But I would not wish you to return without knowing the future you could have _here_ as well.”

Harry looked shrewdly at Fleur’s father. “You’re pretty trusting with someone you just met. How do you know I’d be good for her?”

“I’m am an excellent judge of character,” Jacques said placidly. “And I trust my daughter. If she cares for you, then you must be a good man. But of course, you are right. I should speak with the other famous war hero who my daughter is secretly in love with.”

Harry gave a reluctant grin before turning back to look at Fleur. “I really had no idea.”

“She hides her feelings well. Truthfully, I was not certain myself until I saw her with you tonight. If I had to guess, I would say that spending time with you is rather different than merely corresponding.”

“You know, this might be one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever hard,” Harry remarked. “I knew my last girlfriend’s family for a long time before we started dating, and _they_ all threatened to kill me if I hurt her. _You’re_ basically trying to set me up with your daughter.”

Jacques laughed again. “I _can_ of course make dire threats on your life if that would make you more comfortable?”

“No I think I’m good.”

Their conversation came to a halt as Gabby flew over to hover above the patio.

“Fleur just told me you love to fly, Harry,” she said. “Will you come play?”

It had been a long time now since Harry had been on a broom, but a casual game of Quidditch sounded like the perfect way to clear his mind a bit after the bombshell Jacques had just dropped on him.

“Alright,” he said, setting his glass down and getting to his feet. Gabby made a noise of delight and zoomed back to the field. When Harry got there, he saw that the Delacours’ brooms were all Nimbus Two Thousands. With a nostalgic smile, he mounted a broom and kicked off into the air.

The rush of air awakened his senses and he took a couple joyous laps around the field as he got used to the feel of flying once again. He, Gabby, and Apolline then proceeded to play one of the most uneven games of Quidditch he’d ever seen. Despite Gabby’s repeated pleas, Fleur refused to take up a broom and join them, so the game eventually devolved into them simply tossing the Quaffle around randomly. Eventually it became too dark to see anything anymore and they were forced back down to the ground.

Gabby immediately went over to Fleur and started running her through the best maneuvers she’d just executed. Meanwhile, Jacques bounded over, clapping his hands and laughing jovially.

“A bit!” he exclaimed. “You play a _bit_ of Quidditch! Remind me never to play cards against you, Harry! How is it that you are not playing for England?”

Harry shrugged modestly. “I never really thought about it. I always figured I was just going to be an Auror.”

Jacques waved that away. “Never mind fighting Dark Wizards, we _need_ you on a Quidditch field! I know the manager for the French national team, you _must_ let me introduce you!”

“Now, Jacques,” Apolline said, laying a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should allow Harry a moment before we tie him to a broom for the rest of his life.”

Jacques seemed to deflate. “Yes of course, dear.” However, when Apolline began walking back to the house, he leaned in close to Harry and whispered, “Let me know when you would like to meet him!” before giving an exaggerated wink and following his wife.

Harry shook his head in amusement as he set the broom down carefully. When he turned to follow the others inside, he found Fleur waiting for him. His heart skipped a beat and he felt suddenly tense, irrationally afraid that she was about to confront him. But she just smiled and fell into step beside him.

“I hope you have enjoyed yourself tonight, Harry,” she said.

He tried to relax, reminding himself that was still his friend Fleur. Nothing had really changed in the last few hours.

Just everything.

“Yeah, I had a great time,” he responded, forcing a smile onto his face. “Your family’s really nice.”

She bumped him slightly with her shoulder. “You can be honest, you were expecting them to be far more snobbish, weren’t you?”

The brief moment of contact almost made him jump out of his skin, but he managed to keep himself under control. “I wasn’t,” he protested. “I just thought, you know…” He trailed off, not sure what he thought.

“It is fine,” Fleur said with an easy smile. “I know I am not very much like them.”

Harry frowned. “That’s not true. You’re kind and generous, just like them.”

“That is sweet of you to say, Harry,” she replied in a tone that clearly said she didn’t believe him. “But I am glad you like them regardless, because I have a favor to ask that may be a touch onerous.”

They paused before the patio door and Harry turned to look at her cautiously. “What is it?”

“Well, Gabrielle usually comes to stay with me occasionally during her school breaks,” Fleur started, looking a bit nervous. “But of course, I did not want her bothering you these past few weeks. However, she is asking if she might stay with us for a while? Would that be alright with you?”

Harry almost sagged in relief, having feared something far worse. “Yeah of course it is. You don’t have to ask my permission or anything, it’s _your_ home.”

Fleur shook her head firmly, causing her shimmering hair to swing hypnotically. “It would be quite rude not to speak with you first. But thank you, Gabby will be delighted.”

“Just give me a few minutes when we get back to get her room cleaned up and move my stuff out,” Harry said.

Fleur looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Where will you be going?”

Harry matched her confusion with his own. “The couch? I mean, it’s Gabby’s room, right?”

“You are _not_ sleeping on the couch.” Fleur was as scandalized as Harry had ever seen. “Gabby can share my room. My bed is quite large, we can both fit.”

“Oh, well only if you’re sure?” Harry said. “I really don’t mind.”

Fleur held up a hand. “We will not discuss this further. Neither my sister nor my friend are sleeping in the sitting room. So unless you would like to share a bed with me, you are not leaving your room.”

Harry was extremely thankful it was too dark for Fleur to see the flush spreading over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment to get serious. If any of you reading have been keeping up with news or social media, you may have noticed that JK Rowling went full transphobe this week. I am not trans myself, but this remarkable display of bigotry has affected me deeply as a Harry Potter fan. This world has always been a place of comfort for me, and it has been incredibly difficult watching Rowling undermine the messages of love and acceptance that I cherished for so long. If any of you reading my stories identify as trans or non-binary, I just want to say I see you, and I care about you. I cannot imagine what this must be like, but I hope you can still find spaces in the fandom that recognize the absurdity of Rowling's views. 
> 
> To my cis readers, I encourage you to support trans people however you can. I've been donating to organizations such as Trans Lifeline and Mermaids UK, but if you don't have the means to do this you can sign petitions, share social media posts, and contact your elected representatives. Trans rights are human rights, and cis people cannot be silent in these moments.
> 
> Alright, I'll get off my soap box now. Stay safe everyone!


	5. The Truth Will Out (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry to make you wait so long for this chapter, but I've been having a bad couple of weeks. I crashed pretty hard and I haven't been able to write much. I decided to upload what's essentially a rough draft of the latest chapter rather than wait some undefined amount of time until I feel up to doing a proper edit. What we've got here should probably be two separate chapters, but I just don't have it in me to give it the attention it needs. So I thought I'd share what I have at the moment and hopefully it's still enjoyable to read. At some point I'll try to come back and clean it up, but in the meantime, please excuse the fact that it hasn't been beta-ed, spell checked or smoothed in pretty much any way.
> 
> On the positive side: smut!

Gabby stayed with them for a little over a week, and her presence added a bit of structure to Harry’s schedule that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Being twelve years old, she was not at all inclined to get up with the rising sun the way Fleur needed to, so Harry ended up taking care of her in the morning. While Fleur insisted that Gabby was perfectly capable of feeding herself, the youngest Delacour didn’t seem to mind Harry cooking for her the way her sister did.

After breakfast, Harry took Gabby to the café to help out a bit. Fleur admitted reluctantly that this was a huge help; usually she would have taken the world’s most rushed break to run home, get Gabby moving, and take her back to Place Cachée. Now she actually had an opportunity to take a proper break and eat a bite of lunch.

For his part, Harry found that the routine and chance to look after someone else provided some focus. As much as he enjoyed the freedom and ease of his vacation lifestyle, he didn’t mind the minor responsibility of helping take care of Fleur’s sister.

Gabby’s presence was also useful in other ways. The revelation of Fleur’s feelings for him had shaken him up even more than he’d let on to Jacques. He’d only just gotten used to the dynamic they’d built as friends, only to have this new bit of information throw him completely for a loop. Of course, that was only _if_ Jacques had been correct; Harry wasn’t ruling out the possibility that Fleur’s father might have been mistaken.

Nevertheless, the door had been opened in his mind, and he couldn’t help looking at Fleur in this entirely new light. Harry had never really had a _type_ the way some of his classmates supposedly did, but he truly wouldn’t have thought of Fleur as his type. She was beautiful of course, but there was an elegance to her that he’d always subconsciously assumed ruled him out as a potential romantic partner. After all, Fleur could have just about could have just about _anyone_ , so why in the world would she want _him_?

Except it seemed that she _did_ want him. Which meant that now all those little details that he’d been making a sincere effort _not_ to notice were suddenly all he could think of. He found himself paying attention to Fleur’s every move; the glow of her hair, the cut of her dresses, the way her hips swayed as she hummed to herself in the kitchen. The way he looked at her had changed fundamentally.

With these thoughts in the front of his mind, he’d been worried that he might accidentally say or do something that would mess up their friendship. Luckily, Gabby acted as the perfect buffer. She was always with them, wherever they went and whatever they did, her boundless energy constantly directing their conversation and attentions. With her around, there was no need to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing with Fleur.

With one, very notable exception.

It was a regular afternoon by all other standards. Fleur had finished closing up the café, and the three of them were walking aimlessly through Place Cachée, debating dinner plans. After the fact, he was unable to remember who was arguing in favour of the new bistro and who wanted to eat at home.

Harry and Fleur were on either side of Gabby, each holding one of her hands. Despite being twelve, Gabby was small for her age and often acted even younger when around the two of them. Perhaps that was what drew the attention of the middle-aged witch who approached them and said something in French to Fleur. Whatever it was, it caused both Fleur and Gabby to stop in their tracks and Gabby’s expression went from its usually cheerfulness to huffy as she snatched her hands back.

Fleur replied with a smile that Harry recognized from when she had to manage a customer who had received an incorrect order. The witch’s expression turned apologetic and she excused herself.

Gabby resumed walking, looking downright petulant while Harry and Fleur fell in behind her.

“What did she say?” Harry asked, curiosity burning him up.

“She, ah, seemed to think we were husband and wife,” Fleur told him awkwardly. “And that, well, ah, Gabby was our daughter.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up so far they felt like they might disappear into his hairline. “Really? That’s…interesting.”

“Oui. I suppose I can see the resemblance between me and Gabby at least.” Fleur’s voice dropped. “Although, between you and me, Gabby does not like being so little. She likes people to take her seriously.”

“Then she might want to stop skipping so much,” Harry replied, albeit quietly. Fleur giggled along with him.

Gabby and Fleur seemed to move past the encounter fairly quickly, but Harry couldn’t get it out of his head. Despite his and Fleur’s relative youth, a complete stranger had evidently assumed they were a couple. Was it just a shortsighted woman who glanced their way, or did they really give off the sense that they were together? The whole thing did nothing to help his confusion.

***

Then, suddenly, things were back to the status quo, just Harry and Fleur. Except that unlike before, Harry now had an inkling that Fleur harboured feelings for him. And he was not even a little sure what _his_ feelings were anymore.

The uncertainty was creating tension, he was sure of it. Conversation, when he was able to hold up his end, was irregular and awkward. Every moment, he kept expecting to say or do something wrong. The pressure of keeping everything casual and relaxed was causing him significant stress.

He desperately wished he could talk with Ron and Hermione, even for just a few minutes. He thought about writing them, but it would take an owl so long to get to Australia that any advice they could offer would be woefully out of date by the time their response arrived. In the month he’d been in France he’d only gotten a single letter from them.

So he tried to imagine what they might say to him, if they could. Ron’s response was easy to guess; he’d tell Harry to just go for it, anything if it meant a shot with a Veela. That was not really helpful.

Hermione’s take on the situation would undoubtedly be more complex. She would push him to consider all aspects of the situation, starting with whether _he_ liked Fleur. The problem was, the week with Gabby hadn’t given him the clarity on that topic that he’d hoped for. He shelved the question for the moment. Hermione’s next suggestion would likely be to confirm that Fleur was in fact in love with him. Jacques had been very confident, but the only true way to be sure was to ask her.

He couldn’t bring himself to commit to that course of action for fear of what would happen if Jacques ended up being wrong. Harry couldn’t imagine a more disastrous scenario than walking up to Fleur and saying, “Morning, is it true you’re in love with me and haven’t said anything?” if she was in fact _not_ at all in love with him. If their friendship was suffering from his uncertainty, it would certainly not survive such a miscalculation.

That left only the oblique angle; an attempt to figure out Fleur’s feelings for him in such a way that did not directly reveal everything he currently suspected. He knew that Hermione would not approve such a tactic, but it was around this point that he found himself unable to tolerate his schizophrenic speculation any longer.

He’d discovered that the Delacours had a fascination with Muggle poker, and in the first few nights after Gabby’s departure, he brought out a deck of cards to fill the awkward silences. They used poker chips instead of actual money, but Fleur still played the game as if thousands of Galleons were on the line. After she’d won a few hands in a row and seemed to be in a good mood, Harry thought it was safe to approach the topic of romance.

“Do you mind if I ask you something personal, Fleur?” he said as she shuffled the cards, making it look like they were dancing across the table despite not using any magic.

She gave him a slightly reproving smile. “I think we have grown past the point where you need to ask me if you can ask questions, Harry. But yes, you may. If I may ask one in return.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said easily. This was something of a standard arrangement between them; a question for a question. “Is having me around messing with you dating?”

He’d spent a lot of time thinking about how he would frame the question and decided that this was the best way to approach the topic.

Fleur blinked in surprise, a couple cards slipping through her fingers before she got them back under control. “That is an unusual question,” she said pensively, starting to deal. “To tell you the truth, Harry, I have not had much interest in dating since Isaac. So no, you being here is not interfering with dating.”

Harry barely looked at his cards, far more interested in the conversation. “You mean, you haven’t seen _anyone_ since Isaac?”

“Non, non.” Fleur wagged a reproachful finger. “My turn. Why did you and Ginny not get back together after the war was over?”

The question surprised Harry. In all the time they’d spent together during the last month, neither of them had ever mentioned Ginny. Then again, he _had_ brought up the topic of dating.

“We tried,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “We went on a couple dates, but whatever it was we had before the war just wasn’t there anymore. I think we both just changed too much.”

If Fleur felt one way or another about this, she gave no sign of it, simply nodding serenely. “It is not surprising, after everything you both experienced. To answer your other question, I simply did not have the inclination. I put a great deal into my relationship with Isaac, and I found I did not wish to repeat that mistake. I have also been quite busy with work this past year.

“And now,” she said, laying down her hand triumphantly, “I believe I win again. It is also my turn to ask another question, is it not?”

Harry gave a mock groan, not even bothering to show his own cards; they both knew he’d lost yet another round. While she collected her chips, Harry gathered up the cards and started shuffling much more sedately than Fleur had.

“Alright,” he said, “hit me with it.”

“Since we are discussing the topic of amour,” Fleur said loftily, “how would you describe your ideal woman?”

That was loaded question regardless of whether Fleur was interested in him or not, and Harry gave it a great deal of thought before answering.

“I suppose,” he began slowly, “my ideal woman would be smart, resourceful. Someone who can take care of herself, you know? Someone who’s honest and doesn’t play games. I’m not smart enough to keep up with that sort of thing. I don’t really know, honestly,” he admitted after a moment’s reflection. “Just someone who’s kind and cares about other people, that’s what matters most, right?”

Fleur made a neutral noise, her eyes fixed on her cards, her expression unreadable. “I believe it is your turn then to ask something.”

“Same question,” he said. “What’s your ideal man?”

She smiled as if she’d been expecting the question. “I agree with you, kindness and selflessness are extremely important. Perhaps this is silly, but I would like a man who will treat me like a princess or stay out of my way, depending on my mood. I think I would need someone patient as well.” She glanced over the top of her cards at him. “I notice you did not mention physical features, which is very rude because I will now appear shallow, but I have always been quite attracted to tall, thin men as well.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat and his throat was suddenly dry. “Your turn now,” he mumbled, pretending to look at his hand.

Fleur pondered her question for a moment. “This might be a strange question, but why have you never used your popularity to attract women? Surely there have been many who would happily date someone of your fame?”

Harry made a face. “Well that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s about fame or popularity, not about _me_. Maybe I’m being narcissistic, but I want someone to be interested in me for more than just my fame or something. It just feels…wrong, do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I understand,” Fleur said softly, not looking at him. His answer seemed to have made her unhappy, but he wasn’t sure why. If she was interested in him, surely it was a good thing that he wasn’t dating a string of random fangirls, right? Before he could puzzle it out, she motioned at him. “What is your next question?”

Harry debated for a moment. “Okay, I know you didn’t want to talk about this, so I’ll pick another question if you don’t want to answer, but why on earth did you go to the Yule Ball with Roger Davies?”

Fleur winced. “I will tell you if you truly wish to know, but please do not think less of me.” Harry tried to reassure her, but she rushed ahead of him. “I was originally trying to convince Cedric to ask me. I believe your friend Ron stumbled onto us one evening, did he not?”

“Yeah, he did,” Harry grinned. “We still tease him about that.”

“Well, it was not entirely his fault,” Fleur said apologetically. “I was attempting to draw Cedric’s attention, if you take my meaning. Of course, he had already asked Cho, and was not at all interested.

“What you would _not_ have known,” Fleur continued, “is that Cedric was a calculated choice. Madame Maxime and I chose him intentionally.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “Well I would think so. I mean, you don’t want to just pick a date randomly, do you?” He left out the fact that that was _exactly_ how he had ended up selecting a _his_ date.

“No, you do not understand.” Fleur looked rather unhappy now. “Madame Maxime was coaching me through the tournament. She was determined that Beauxbatons would win and helped me through the challenges. She told me about the dragons and how to work the egg. We assumed that Dumbledore was doing the same, since Hogwarts ended up with two champions. We were hoping that if I could woo Cedric into taking me to the Yule Ball, and I could get him to share Dumbledore’s strategies with me and gain an advantage.”

“Ah,” Harry said, his mind racing. He’d already known, based on what Crouch/Moody had said that the other headmasters were helping their champions, and this new piece of information helped things make a lot more sense. “You know Dumbledore wasn’t, right? Helping us, that is.”

“Yes, I learned that later,” Fleur nodded. “In any case, after Cedric turned me down, I simply accepted the first halfway decent looking person who asked. Which happened to be Roger. In hindsight, not the best choice.”

“How come you didn’t try to get me or Krum?”

Fleur laughed. “I may be part Veela, but even my powers have limits. I would have better luck attracting a blind, gay man than getting Viktor to open up to me. Besides, Karkaroff was incompetent, we knew that Viktor’s success was his own doing. As for you, well, Madame Maxime and I had a rather large argument about you.”

“Me, why?” Harry asked in surprise.

“She thought I should go after you once I failed with Cedric,” Fleur explained. “She thought your success in the first task was a matter of luck, but she still thought having you enamoured with me might prove useful.”

“So why didn’t you? At that point I was desperate enough to find someone I probably would have said yes.”

“It felt…improper,” Fleur said, frowning. “You were young and I was of age. I felt I would be taking advantage of you. I was willing to do quite a bit to win the tournament, but I did not want to lead on a young man who had been tricked into an unfortunate situation, whether it was Dumbledore or someone else pulling the strings.”

She looked at him with a worried expression. “I hope you do not think I am horrible for telling you these things, Harry. I was under a great deal of pressure, both from myself and from Madame Maxime, and I let it get the best of me. That was part of the reason I think I was so blasé with Roger; I was acting out my frustrations with the situation.”

“I don’t think you’re horrible at all,” Harry responded immediately. “We were _all_ under a lot of pressure. And just so you know, Dumbledore might not have been helping me, but I wasn’t exactly competing fairly either, I had help too.”

She smiled slightly. “I gathered as much. Not even someone as resourceful as you thinks of summoning a broomstick two seconds after seeing a Hungarian Horntail.”

Harry felt himself blush again at Fleur calling him resourceful. “Well, I think that was way more than just one question, so you should ask whatever you feel like.”

“Very well then. You said you do not like playing games, yes?” Fleur asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Harry nodded anyway. She set down her cards, even though the round wasn’t yet done. “Have you tired of _this_ game yet?”

“You don’t mean the poker game, do you?” Harry said with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Fleur shook her head. “I know exactly what you are trying to do, Harry, as I suspect you know what _I_ have been trying to do. So, shall we lay our cards on the table, as it were?”

So much for the subtle approach. Harry nodded glumly, folding up his cards.

Fleur regarded him steadily over the table, and he’d never found her clear blue eyes more unreadable than in that moment. “My father spoke to you, did he not? And now you are trying to make sense of it?”

Harry nodded, feeling it would be pointless to lie.

Fleur sighed, running a hand through her hair. “If there is a man who loves drama more than my papa, I have not met him,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said reflexively, even though there was nothing he could have done about it. “Should I have said something sooner?”

“No, it would have been far too awkward around Gabby,” Fleur said. “Although you did not need to be so circumspect. We are friends, Harry, if you had a question, you could simply ask me.”

“Alright then,” Harry said, suddenly feeling bold. “Is it true. Are you in love with me?”

Fleur sighed again and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, they were inexplicably sad. “Yes, it is. I am in love with you, Harry.”

Harry sat back in his chair, completely flabbergasted. He realized that until that moment, he hadn’t really believed Jacques. Hearing it from Fleur herself was even more stunning. How could Fleur be in love with _him_?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he managed to stammer eventually.

Fleur blinked, and he was disheartened to see tears in her eyes. “Because our friendship has meant more to me than you could possibly understand. I have never felt so free to simply be myself as I am with you. You are so patient and accepting with me; you never judge or hold anything against me. I did not want to lose that, for I know you did not feel the same way.”

“Wait, hold on,” he said, feeling distinctly off balance. “How come you think I don’t feel the same way?”

“I am hardly your type,” she replied dismally. “You said so yourself. I am not kind or caring. I am selfish and vain. I have always been more concerned with appearances than with the feelings of others.”

“That’s not true at all!” Harry protested. “Look at how well you’ve treated me the last few years. I’ve been able to talk to you about stuff I haven’t told _anyone_. You’ve always been there for me, that’s hardly selfish, is it? And if you were really so bad, you wouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of me during the Tournament.”

Fleur smiled sadly. “You never stop trying to see the best in people, do you? Even if what you said were true, it does not matter. I know that you have been trying to assess whether we are compatible. But love is not just about whether something makes sense on paper, Harry. It is about emotion and passion. It is about being drawn to someone, no matter how hard you try to resist. Feeling as though you will suffocate if you are not close to them.”

“And how do you know I _don’t_ feel that way about you?” Harry challenged her.

“It is simple,” she replied. “My magic does not work on you.”

He frowned, thrown by the statement. “What do you mean? You’ve been trying to use your magic on me?”

She nodded miserably. “I cannot help it. I was drawn to you from almost the moment I saw you in the Ministry. Even when I attempt not to, I am, what did you call it? ‘Turning on the charm?’ And it clearly has no effect. I know you are interested in women, but you are clearly not interested in _this_ woman.”

Harry stared at Fleur incredulously, his jaw open in shock. Did she really think he wasn’t drawn to her? Surely someone that smart couldn’t also be that thick? And Hermione had always said _he_ was bad.

He allowed himself a brief moment to become aware of Fleur’s veela magic pulling at his attention. It was kind of like a constant noise that one became accustomed to, like the scratching of quills during an exam. He always knew it was there, but after a while it faded into the background. Or like the Imperius Curse (although he would never make the comparison out loud); the little voice was always there, telling him what to do, but it was easy to shut out. It was, at the end of the day, _his_ choice whether he would do something or not.

And he found, to his surprise, that he could quite simply choose to _stop_ ignoring the pull.

Suddenly, he felt it, that sense of incredible desire that he’d only experienced once, when the Veela song had taken him by surprise at the World Cup. Blood thundered in his ears as he stared at Fleur, her body looking like the most delicious feast he’d ever set eyes upon. Coherent thought was gone, rational debates about compatibility and personality were things of the past. He _needed_ her.

Right. Fucking. _Now_!

Fleur seemed to notice the shift right before he acted on the impulse. Her breath caught abruptly, and her eyes widened. She stood with him, not even appearing to notice her surroundings.

He could have walked around the tiny table to reach her, but the extra two steps would take far longer than he was willing to wait. Instead, he simply seized the edge and tossed it to the side, sending playing cards and poker chips flying across the room. Fleur just stared at him, pupils dilated as he stepped forward and seized her, one hand wrapping around her waist to pull her body against him, the other cupping the back of her neck to tilt her head up for a kiss.

She pressed herself into him willingly, eagerly, as if she’d been barely holding herself back. Which, he supposed, she _had_ been. He’d never had a kiss like this before, so unrestrained and intense. His tongue slipped past her lips to taste her, drawing out a light moan that set him on fire.

Clear thought was rapidly become unfeasible as sheer, desperate _need_ overwhelmed all other impulses. Before he knew it, Fleur’s arse was in his hands and he was _squeezing_ and she was moaning even louder. Her hands were suddenly at his belt, frantically undoing his pants and pushing them down. Harry broke the kiss in elated shock when her delicate fingers dipped into the waistband of his underwear and wrapped around his aching cock. She adapted quickly, leaning in to nibble at the sensitive skin of his neck.

It probably should have occurred to him to pause and let Fleur know that this was his first time doing _anything_ with a woman, but that bit of information seemed less than trivial in the moment. There were far more important things on his mind.

Like getting into Fleur’s underwear too.

She didn’t object as he reached up her skirt and yanked her knickers down. They fell to the floor and she stepped out of them, lifting a leg to wrap around Harry’s waist as she did. Harry slid a hand along the curve of her arse until his fingers brushed against the damp heat of her cunt. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, and he couldn’t remember any of the various things he’d heard about how to touch a woman. Instinct guided him as he stroked the lips of her pussy before slipping a finger inside her.

Fleur’s reaction was immediate and vocal. She rested her head against Harry’s should and gave a long, drawn out gasp of pleasure while her hand sped up on his cock.

“Need more!” She seemed to be having trouble with speech. “Need you!”

So did he. In a moment, he had her down on the kitchen floor, not caring about the hard tile against his knees, or that they were both still mostly clothed. All that mattered was that he _needed_ to be inside her as soon as possible or he would suffocate from desire.

He settled himself between Fleur’s wide open legs, hardly aware that he had never done this before as the tip of his cock nestled into her folds. Fleur was looking up at him, almost panting with how fast each breath was coming. Her eyes looked wild and more out of control than he’d ever seen.

“Please, Harry!” she whispered. “Please make love to me!”

He couldn’t have denied her even if he’d wanted to. With a surge of his hips, he buried his entire length in Fleur.

She arched her back and cried out, her legs coming up to lock around him. The tight, wet heat of her cunt was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the incredible way her body hugged his length.

But it still wasn’t enough. He had to move.

He knew he should have checked in with Fleur and seen how she was doing, but it was like she was pulling at him, making sure he didn’t stop. He drove himself into her over and over again, unable to slow down even though he knew he was hurtling toward the edge. Not that Fleur seemed to mind.

“More, more, Harry!” she cried with each thrust, her head thrown back in ectasy. Her heels dug into the backs of his thighs, forcing him to speed up.

“Fleur!” he moaned, unable to summon the words to warn her that he couldn’t hold out much longer.

She appeared to grasp his meaning right away, but if anything that excited her more. “Don’t hold back!” she commanded, cupping the sides of his face and looking him deep in the eye. “Come inside me! I need to feel you come!”

The intensity of her gaze pushed him over the edge. He buried himself as deep in her as possible as his orgasm broke over him. He felt like every muscle in his body had contracted as he emptied himself inside Fleur’s incredible cunt.

She went into spasms of her own, clenching tightly around him, as if she was trying to milk him dry. Her mouth was open as if in a silent, protracted scream, her limbs trembling.

When it was over, Harry barely kept himself from collapsing onto Fleur and crushing her. His arms trembled with the sudden challenge of holding his own weight up while he stared down at Fleur. Her eyes were closed with an expression of extreme satisfaction. Then, they flew open, looking as wild as ever.

“More,” she said, and he was hit with a wave of magically inspired lust so strong, he was instantly ready to go again.

He claimed her mouth once more, his hips starting to move again. This time though, Fleur seemed to want to take a more active role. Before he knew what was happening, she’d somehow managed to roll him onto his back. He kicked his pants and underwear off entirely as Fleur reposition herself above him and sank onto his cock. She started riding him furiously, each shallow thrust accompanying a sharp breath.

From his new position looking up at her, Harry realized that she was still mostly dressed. Impatiently, he tugged at the hem of her blouse, and she stopped moving long enough to raise her arms and let him toss the shirt away. She then quick undid the clasp of her bra and sent that flying as well.

Harry’s first in person look at a pair of bare breasts was shorter than he might have liked, but Fleur evidently had plans for him. She seized his hands and all but mashed them against her chest before beginning to ride him again. He took the hint and eagerly started fondling her soft tits. They were unbelievably soft and just large enough to spill out over the sides of his hands.

“Harder,” she ordered, and he all but mauled her breasts in his haste to obey. The approving moans he drew from her were all the encouragement he needed to continue.

Fleur leaned back farther so she had space to reach down and begin playing his herself with one hand, while the other pushed Harry’s hand against her chest and forced him to pinch her nipple far more roughly than he would have ever dared, even in his lust addled state.

The various bits of stimulation seemed to be just what Fleur needed to put her over the top again, and Harry was once more treated to the agonizingly pleasurable feeling of her pussy clenching around his cock. His second orgasm was just as intense at the first one, and for a moment he feared his heart might give out under the strain.

Fleur fell forward and peppered Harry’s face with quick, frantic kisses. “Thank you, thank you!” she breathed.

After a moment, she slipped off of him, his cum spilling out of her, although neither of them noticed nor cared. The both were too busy noticing that Harry was still hard. Fleur looked at his cock and he felt another surge of her magic wash over him.

“Bedroom?” he suggested.

She nodded sharply and stood, taking the opportunity to remove her skirt, the last piece of clothing on her body before rushing out of the kitchen. Harry followed her down the hall, tossing off his shirt as he went.

He caught up to her just as she was reaching the bed and got his first, proper look at her naked bottom. Fleur’s arse had always drawn his attention, given how much it flared out from her waist, and he seized the opportunity to stare openly. Of course, he wanted to do more than just stare…

He stepped up behind her before she could turn and grabbed her arse in both his hands. Fleur moaned and twisted her head back to kiss him while pushing her arse back against his erection. His desire barely dulled by the two orgasms he’d already had, he seized Fleur by the hips and pushed her up against the bed. She gasped in surprise but bent forward and spread her legs wide. In a moment, he was inside her again.

Fleur gripped the sheets as his hips collided with her arse over and over again. Harry pulled her against him with each thrust, his hands tight on her waist.

“Harder, Harry!” she cried, looking over her shoulder at him. “As hard as you can!”

This incredible angel was going to kill him, Harry was sure of it. Sweat beaded his forehead as he pushed himself harder than he had in any battle or Quidditch match. But he never even thought of stopping. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve this incredible experience, but he never wanted it to end.

He fell onto her back as he came again, moaning her name incoherently into her soft hair. He was pretty sure she hadn’t come yet, but she still made a sound of utmost ecstasy while he shuddered inside her.

Harry rolled off of her onto the bed, vaguely thinking about the fact that that this was the first time he’d been in Fleur’s room, not that he was focused enough to look around. Fleur crawled up next to him and claimed another kiss from him. Despite having gone three rounds now, she was just as passionate and excited as when their lips had first met.

When she drew back, there was no sign that she was tired or worn out in the least. She spoke one word that he’d heard quite a lot that night. “More!”

It was very late when they both finally collapsed of sheer exhaustion, tangled in each other’s arms, too spent to even speak. Harry drifted off to sleep with the sweet scent of her filling his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers and fellow writers. I'm very sorry to report that I've functionally given up on this fic. I've been blown away by the wonderful response and interest from all of you, and I absolutely hate leaving it off like this, but I find myself unable to make any progress. Rowling's public bigotry is making it impossible for me to to enjoy Potter related media in a way I consider ethical. I don't by any means wish to condemn or shame those who continue to enjoy Harry Potter, it's just not working for me as a writer. I've never really subscribed to the Death of the Author concept, feeling that a writer and their works are intrinsically linked. For those interested, I'd recommend checking out this video about Rowling specifically https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NViZYL-U8s0&t=156s
> 
> I feel really awful about leaving a work that others were enjoying unfinished, so I'm uploading the remainder of what I'd written in its unedited form. I had a couple chapters and some disconnected pieces that I was going to pull together at the end. It's not that great, but I hope it at least gives some sense of how I was hoping to close out the story. Thank you to everyone who has been reading, and be good to each other.

Harry woke up alone. This was so ordinary, and he was so comfortable that he didn’t realize for a while that there should have been someone next to him. It was only when he reached out for his glasses, which he usually left on the table next to his bed, and encountered a variety of unfamiliar objects that he immediately proceeded to knock all over the place in his surprise, that he remembered he hadn’t slept in his room.

Gabby’s room.

Fleur’s spare bedroom.

Whatever.

Harry finally dug his glasses out the clutter of Fleur’s bedside table and twisted immediately to look at the empty expanse of bed next to him. It took his sleep addled, slightly frantic brain a couple moments to put this fact in context. His immediate, irrational fear was that he’d dreamed the entire previous evening and had somehow sleepwalked into Fleur’s bedroom. That was a truly terrifying idea, given that it had easily been the best night of his life. Luckily, he quickly deduced that this was a silly assumption, partially because he’d never sleepwalked in his life, but mostly because he found a few bite marks on his shoulder that he would have been hard pressed to have given himself.

Also, he had a pretty good idea of what happened to people who wandered into Fleur Delacour’s bedroom uninvited.

Okay, so he _had_ slept with Fleur. Well, they hadn’t slept very much. If memory served, they had done a lot of other things _besides_ sleep. Several times.

He suppressed his immediate urge to dance excitedly because there was a much more pressing issue:

Where was Fleur?

The panic her absence inspired brought with it several thoughts, each mildly more rational than the last. The first was that she’d been abducted by escaped Death Eaters who had tracked him down and would now hold her for ransom. Except he surely would have heard something like that happening right next to him, and more importantly, why wouldn’t Death Eaters just take _him_?

The second thought was that something he’d done to her last night had caused such physical harm that she needed to seek medical attention. Twenty-four hours ago, Harry had been a virgin, he had no practical experience with sex, and he certainly hadn’t been seriously considering his actions in the heat of the moment. He managed to dismiss this fear with the knowledge that even if he _had_ somehow hurt Fleur, she would surely have told him.

His final, mildly less insane thought, was that Fleur had woken up at some point, realized she’d made a huge mistake, and simply fled. This seemed far more plausible, given that they hadn’t really sat down to have a rational conversation about the possibility of starting a relationship, let alone what the physical component, if any, should have been. He’d practically just attacked her, and while he’d thought she’d been very enthusiastic at the time, perhaps he hadn’t been reading the situation correctly. Maybe she had wanted it in the moment, but regretted it in the light of day. Maybe he’d been terrible or inconsiderate, or she’d just rethought how she felt about him.

This thought was the most frightening of them all, because there was nothing he could immediately think of to disprove it. All he had was an empty bed next to him, and no explanation for where Fleur had gone.

Then it occurred to him that Fleur was an early riser, and she might just have gotten up already to wash up and make breakfast. She could simply be a few feet away, on the other side of the bedroom door. Harry seized this possibility with all his might and immediately leapt from the bed and tore across the room. He didn’t put anything on, because he’d left all his clothes in the other room the night before. And wearing one of her dresses would probably not be the best way to convince her it hadn’t been a mistake to sleep with him.

However, the desperate hope was crushed as soon as he exited the bedroom and realized the apartment was completely empty. There was no sign of Fleur anywhere, but curiously, there was also no evidence of the mess they’d made either. The kitchen table had been righted, the cards and poker chips sorted out. Their clothes, which had been left in heaps on the floor, were neatly folded on the sofa. All evidence was that Fleur had come out, cleaned up the chaos, then inexplicably left.

That made so little sense that Harry ended up wandering aimlessly through the sitting room, scratching his head. If Fleur had woken up distraught and regretful, as he currently feared, he had a hard time seeing her _cleaning_ before she fled. Fleur was a reasonably neat person, but not compulsively so.

Finally, with a surge of irritation so strong Harry could have actually slapped himself, he realized it was a workday. Fleur had probably woken up and gone to her café, just like she always did. She hadn’t woken Harry because they’d been up very late and she likely hadn’t wanted to interrupt his rest. This explanation finally explained all the facts, and it also provided him a way to speak with her. He would just go to the café and see how she was doing.

He was so excited by the prospect, that he got ready to leave faster than he ever had in his life, showering, dressing, and attempting to comb his hair in barely ten minutes time. However, just as he was about to step out of the apartment, he took one last look around at the tidied up sitting room and abruptly remembered the mess he’d left in Fleur’s bedroom. After all the work she’d gone through to clean up, it seemed rude to dash out without doing the same.

Reluctantly, he walked back to the bedroom and attempted to make the bed neatly. Then he went to sort out the various knick knacks that he’d knocked off the bedside table. It was then that he finally noticed the little slip of parchment that he must have sent flying in his rush to find his glasses. Fleur’s neat, elegant handwriting met him as he unfolded the note.

_Harry,_

_I had to go to work, I am sorry to leave without saying anything, but you looked quite peaceful and I did not wish to disturb you. I imagine you must have many thoughts and feelings, as I do. We will talk this evening when I get home._

_Love,_

_Fleur_

At first he was relieved to have his theory definitively confirmed, and annoyed for having needlessly put himself through such stress. His relief was short lived, however. As he reread the note, its wording began to feel more and more ominous. It was so short, shorter than any communication he’d ever received from Fleur. He found himself parsing each and every word for hidden meanings. The first sentence was fairly straightforward, there wasn’t much he could glean.

On the other hand, the second sentence contained far more for him to obsess over. ‘Many thoughts and feelings?’ Yes, he did have many thoughts and feelings, mostly consisting of the ‘Yay!’ variety. So what was it about the way she’d phrased it that made him worry so much?

It was the follow up, that final sentence bearing the promise ‘We will talk this evening.’ He had no doubt there was much for them to discuss, but he’d found that people rarely said ‘We will talk’ when there was something positive to talk about. She hadn’t said, for instance, ‘I’m looking forward to talking with you,’ or ‘I can’t wait to do it again.’ Maybe those were the kinds of things you didn’t put in a note, but their absence cause him to revisit his fears about her mindset. There was nothing in her note to suggest that she was regretting what they’d done, but then again there wasn’t anything to suggest she _didn’t_ regret it either.

The need for clarity almost drove him to Apparate immediately to the café so he could talk with her. But the phrase, ‘this evening’ kept drawing his attention. Clearly, Fleur would rather have this discussion _after_ work, and he needed to respect her desires. Especially if he had done something that had made her uncomfortable or unhappy. And Harry knew from his own limited dating experience that if a difficult conversation needed to happen, a public place was _not_ the right venue to have it. So he resigned himself to waiting.

The remainder of the day moved slower than almost any Harry could remember. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get his mind off the myriad of horrible ‘what-ifs’ that kept cropping up. He tried to read a book and found he couldn’t focus, so he turned to cards. But it had been years since he’d played solitaire, and he couldn’t remember the rules.

At one point he considered taking a walk and was stopped by the hope that Fleur might miraculously return home early. It had never happened thus far, but even the almost non-existent possibility kept him from leaving. He eventually ended up pacing, hyper conscious of just how much the apartment felt like Fleur, even in her absence. Everything, from the art on the walls, to the color of the kitchen tile reminded him of her, making his inability to see her even more difficult to deal with. He tried to keep himself from looking at his watch, only to growl in frustration each time he broke down and found that it had only been a couple minutes since the last time he’d checked.

When Fleur finally walked through the door, he was wound up so tightly that he felt like the slightest tap would shatter him into a thousand pieces. He braced himself for the look of disgust or anger he feared would appear on her face when she saw him. But she didn’t look disgusted or angry, just tired. And the smile she gave him was as radiant as ever.

Finally, the bands on his chest began to ease, and he felt like he could breathe again. She didn’t hate him. Even if she regretted their actions, she didn’t blame him. The situation could still be salvaged. The relief caused him to sink into the nearest chair, which happened to be the one he’d sat in during their poker game the night before. He very much doubted there would be a repeat tonight.

Fleur kicked off her shoes and walked over. “Are you hungry? I can work on super if you like?”

Truthfully, Harry wasn’t hungry at all, even though he’d barely eaten all day. “I think I’d rather have that chat now, if it’s alright with you.”

Fleur sighed, looking melancholy. “Very well.”

She sat down opposite him and folded her hands on the table, seemingly lost in thought. He waited for her to gather her thoughts, wanting to hear what she had to say before he risked sharing his own feelings.

“I owe you an apology for how I behaved last night, Harry,” she began, not looking at him. “I took advantage of you and it was wrong. I am truly sorry.”

“Wait, back up a second.” Harry was now well and truly confused. “You think _you_ took advantage of _me_?”

She nodded, her expression miserable. “It is obvious I pushed you into it. I did not even attempt to control my magic. I am ashamed at how selfishly I acted. I can only beg your forgiveness and tell you I understand if you would rather not stay here any longer.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, Harry started laughing. He couldn’t help himself, the whole thing was just so ridiculous. Fleur finally looked up at him, her brow furrowed in confusion and a tiny bit of hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying and failing to get himself under control as he continued to shake with mirth, “I’m not laughing at you I promise. This is just way too much!”

“I’m afraid I’m not seeing what is so funny.” Fleur was going from confused to angry quickly enough to cut through Harry’s humour.

“Okay, okay,” he said, suppressing the last of his giggles. “It’s just, I spent the whole day thinking _I_ took advantage of _you_.”

The confusion was back. “But, why in the world would you think that?

“Because I practically attacked you,” Harry pointed out. “I didn’t ask what you wanted or whether you were okay with anything. I just went for it.”

“I rather thought repeatedly screaming ‘More’ was enough to tell you I was _extremely_ okay with _everything_ you were doing,” Fleur shot back wryly.

Harry blushed, but he didn’t back down. “And _I_ thought the fact that I kept doing it all, _repeatedly_ , made it clear that I wanted to. A lot.”

Fleur stared at him, and then _she_ began to laugh, great peals that sent tears of mirth streaming down her face. Having already grasped the irony of the situation, Harry just smiled as she worked through it herself.

“Ah, Harry,” she sighed, wiping her eyes. “It seems I have not learned very much from my own mistakes.”

“Be honest with people you care about,” Harry said. It had been two years since he’d received the letter from Fleur explaining her break up with Isaac, but he remembered every word of it. Fleur had never been so vulnerable, before or since. “I probably should’ve thought of that too.”

“What a pair of fools we are,” Fleur said, shaking her head ruefully. “How much how heartache so you suppose we could have saved ourselves over the years, had we simply not held so much inside?”

“Well why don’t we start?” Harry replied. “Tell me honestly how you felt about last night?”

Fleur smiled wistfully. “Last night was one of the most beautiful, transcendent experiences of my life. In the moments I was not worrying about today, I was having great difficulty focusing on work.”

“Even though it was my first time?” Harry asked nervously. Even someone with his limited sexual experience knew that first times weren’t usually great.

“You were a virgin?” Fleur said, her eyes widening. “Meaning you have done _some_ things, or you have _never_ …?”

“Last night was the first anything,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone level. “I mean, I’ve kissed girls before, but nothing else. I thought it would’ve been obvious, I had no idea what I was doing.”

Fleur took a deep, calming breath. “I will do my best not to begin panicking, because you deserve an answer before I do. Experience is not everything, Harry. I have had lovers who were extremely skilled, with many techniques and tricks to draw upon. However, I have found that the connection between two people is far more important than experience or skill. Making love is about more than your ability to stimulate nerves, but how you feel about another person, and express that through your actions. So yes, Harry, even though it was your first time, it was quite possibly the best sex I have ever had.”

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“I am glad.” Fleur’s expression turned anxious. “Now allow me to panic for a moment and ask why you did not tell me that it was your first time?”

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t really thinking about it, really. I was just…caught up in the moment I guess.”

“I suppose I should take that as a good sign,” Fleur muttered. “Do not mistake me,” she rushed to say as Harry’s face fell, “I do not mind being your first. Far from it, I am actually rather flattered. But I wish I had known beforehand; I could have made the experience special for you.”

“Trust me, it was _very_ special,” Harry said earnestly. “I have a hard time imagining it being _more_ special.”

“Since we have agreed to be honest, I will do my best to believe you.” She drew herself up formally. “I suppose now that we have cleared the air, there is one more important issue for us to resolve. What do we do now?”

“Yeah,” Harry said heavily. “I’ve been thinking about that. In between bouts of panic of my own.”

Fleur gave a reluctant smile. “As have I. Did you reach any conclusions?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, if we’re being totally open with each other, I can’t see us going back to just being friends. The cat’s out of the bag as far as I’m concerned. But beyond that, I’m not really sure. I haven’t had much luck with relationships, and that was before I survived a war. What are _you_ thinking?”

The look she gave him was tender and sad and hopeful all at the same time. “I love you, Harry,” she said simply, causing his heart to flip. “I never once expected to share even a single night with you, and if that is all we ever have, I will treasure it the rest of my life. But I cannot expect anything more from you after you have already been through so much. It would be selfish.”

Harry’s throat grew tight with emotion. “What if I don’t want last night to be all?” he managed to croak.

Fleur tilted her head. “What are you saying?”

“Look, I don’t really know where my life’s heading,” he said, “and I know this wasn’t what either of us expected when I came to stay with you, but, I don’t know, we’re here now, aren’t we? Maybe we don’t have to worry about the future just yet. Maybe we can just appreciate being together in the moment.”

Fleur appeared to ponder his words before nodding slowly. “Perhaps I am being shortsighted, but that sounds quite wonderful to me.”

Harry felt a wide smile break out across his face. “It does?”

“Yes, it does,” Fleur said, returning his smile. “I have spent far too long obsessing over what comes next. I would welcome living in the moment, however long that may be.”

“Okay then!” Suddenly Harry felt light and giddy, like he’d taken a draught of Felix Felicis. “So, would you like to go on a proper date now?”

“That sounds lovely, Harry, but I think I have a better idea right now.” Fleur gave him a look we wasn’t sure how to interpret. Was she…smirking? Fleur never smirked.

“What’s that?” he asked cautiously.

“You asked how your first time could have been more special.” She got up and starting _slinking_ around the table, her hips swaying. He was hit with a burst of Veela magic that quickened his pulse and made his jeans feel suddenly tight. “Why don’t I show you?” He started to stand, but she raised a hand. “Non, non, sit. The chair is perfect for what I have in mind.”

“You gonna give me a clue?” Harry asked as she stopped in front of him. He was struck once again that Fleur could be a very intimidating woman, when she wanted. The way she was looming over him, looking at him like he was a piece of meat was both exciting and a bit disconcerting.

The smirk on her face grew more pronounced. “I will see if this helps.” She sank down to her knees, pushing Harry’s legs apart and resting her hands on the tops of his thighs before cocking an eyebrow at him. “Have you caught on yet?”

He had indeed and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Um, I think so, but you know you don’t really have to.”

“Oh but I do,” Fleur said casually, starting to undo his pants. “You see, I regularly use my mouth, hands, and breasts to pleasure my boyfriends. And we just agree that you are now my boyfriend, did we not?”

Harry nodded dumbly, barely believing this was happening.

“Well then it seems only appropriate that I do so now.” She got him to lift his hips so she could pull down his pants and underwear, freeing his cock. “Especially since I surely would have last night, had I known you have never experienced this before.” She now had his cock in hand. “That is, unless you do not want me to?”

Harry looked down at her pouting lips, poised just above the tip of his cock, and decided he’d rather go through another war that pass this up. “No, uh, I mean yeah, I really do.”

The smirk was back. “I thought so. There are a couple of ground rules though. First, feel free to play with my hair, or any other part of my you like, but please do not push my head, I have a rather sensitive gag reflex.”

“No choking, got it,” Harry said, repeating the rule in his head over and over so he wouldn’t forget it.

“Good. Second, tell me when you are going to come.” And with that, she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock.

Right away Harry had to remind himself of rule one, because the moment Fleur’s tongue flicked against the underside of his cock, he was seized by an intense desire to grab her head and pull her down into his lap. He settled on seizing her shoulders, gripping tightly to keep himself under control.

Fleur looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement as if she knew exactly how much he was already struggling. Her hypnotic blue gaze pulled him in, adding to his pleasure.

He had very little to compare this experience to. Unlike some of his classmates, who had bragged about getting to facefuck girls, Fleur was slow and deliberate, but no less sensual for that. It felt like her tongue was dancing along his length, applying pressure in all the right places. Meanwhile, her hands gently stroked the bottom of his cock and cupped his balls.

“Oh my god, Fleur,” Harry moaned, feeling like his heart might explode from the pressure and excitement.

Fleur slowly drew off of him, taking her torturous time until the head of his cock came out of her mouth with a little pop.

“Help me with my dress,” she said, placing her hands over his and drawing the straps of her dress down. He hurried to take over, pulling the top of the dress down and freeing her breasts. In the haze of the previous evening, he hadn’t had a chance to properly appreciate Fleur’s tits, the wonderful size and fullness of them. He did so now, staring and cupping them before remembering that Fleur liked having her large, puffy nipples pinched.

Fleur bit her lip as he played with her breasts. “You learn quickly, mon amour. But this is about you right now.”

She replaced his hands with her own and leaned forward so that his cock was nestled in the deep valley of her cleavage. He was already wet with her saliva, and her breasts glided along his length easily.

“I imagine you never expected something like this to happen when you came to live with me,” Fleur said, eyes alight with an almost sadistic excitement. “Did you ever think I would be on my knees in front of you, my breasts wrapped around your beautiful cock?”

Harry shook his head, barely able to form a coherent thought.

“But you thought about it, didn’t you?” she continued with a small smirk. “You fantasized about me pleasing you with my body?”

He gritted his teeth, control slipping, but Fleur sped up, the tight seal of her tits rubbing every inch of his cock.

“Tell me!” Her tone was suddenly intense and commanding. “How many times this last week did you come while thinking about me?”

“Every day!” Harry blurted out, unable to help himself. “Fuck, I thought about you all the time!”

“What was I doing in your filthy fantasies?” Fleur demanded, her expression triumphant.

Lying didn’t even occur to Harry. “Sucking my cock, riding me, bending over and letting me fuck you, lying on the table while I make you come-” His montage was interrupted when Fleur tilted her head down and flicked the tip of his cock with her tongue.

“Good boy,” she said with relish. “But there is no need to dream now that you have me. You can do everything you wish to me and more. Starting with coming for me now. You gave me so much yesterday, I could feel it staining my underwear while I was trying to work. I want to feel your cum on my skin, I want to see your pleasure.”

“Fuck, Fleur, I’m gonna come!” Harry cried, the combination of dirty talk and her magnificent tits putting him over the edge.

Fleur immediately took him in one hand and jerked him off quickly while cupping her other arm under her tits, pushing them up.

“Come for me, Harry,” she urged, pointing him at her breasts. “Cover me with your seed.”

His hips jumped involuntarily as he obeyed, spraying his release over her chest. Fleur moaned as if she was coming too, her eyes fixed rapturously on his face as if drinking in his pleasure. She kept stroking him until the very end, drawing out the last few drops onto her delicate fingers.

Harry sank back into the chair, breathing heavily and unable to take his eyes off Fleur. His cum thoroughly decorated both her breasts, sliding down the pristine orbs to drip off her upturned nipples. It was easily the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

Now that he’d come, Fleur was looking suddenly shy. She glanced down at her slick body and blushed.

“I hope you do not mind that I did not have you come in my mouth,” she said hurriedly. “I know men like it when women swallow their seed, but I do not care for the taste and I have a strong gag reflex.”

Harry tried to say something, but she rushed over him. “I am willing to try of course, if you had hoped for that. Or I can make you come on my face, I know that is enjoyable as well. I just did not want you to think-”

He silenced her by leaning forward and kissing her as tenderly as he could. Her eyes closed and she whimpered softly.

“That was perfect, Fleur,” he said softly. “Thank you so much! But honestly, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for me.”

She smiled, hesitantly at first, then widely. “I am glad you enjoyed it, Harry. I was being serious though, you can truly do anything you want to me. I am quite happy to fulfill any fantasy you wish.”

“Well, I did have this one about making you come on the kitchen table.”

Fleur’s smile turned excited. “Then there is no time to lose. The kitchen table happens to be quite sturdy.”

It was several hours before they were both sated. They lay in Fleur’s bed, sticky with sweat and cum, but unwilling to separate for even the brief moment necessary to clean themselves. Fleur’s head rested on Harry’s shoulder while she drew lazy, absent lines across his chest.

“You’re sure I was alright?” Harry asked at one point.

Fleur lifted her head just long enough to arch an eyebrow at him. “I am only going to tell that you are the best lover I have had so many times, Harry.”

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just a bit hard to believe, you know. I figured you’d have been with way better than me.”

“As I said, I find connection is much more important than anything else,” Fleur replied. “Especially for Veela. We feed off the emotions of our partners; the greater the bond, the more our powers enhance the experience.”

“Is that why I’m able to, you know, keep going?” Harry inquired. “I didn’t think that was normal.”

“It is not,” she said. “Even for me. My power can inspire lust, and a few of my partners have been able to have more than one orgasm, but three hours is most unusual.”

“Do you have a theory about that?”

He felt the slightest bit of tension come into her shoulders.

“I think it is because of how strong my feelings or you are,” she said eventually, her voice steadily neutral. “My desire for you is amplifying my abilities more than it ever has with my other boyfriends. But I am not sure. I realize that I have never been in love before. It is all new to me.”

Abruptly, Harry realized that their last two conversations had been derailed before they fully discussed his own feelings. Fleur had confessed her love, but he hadn’t reciprocated. He honestly hadn’t been sure how he felt last night when he’d brought it up; it was hard to know if he loved her when he was half-convinced she wasn’t really in love with him. However, the past day had given him plenty of time to reflect. Although he’d been prepared for rejection, now that the possibility was open to him, he found the idea of _not_ being with Fleur terrifying. In a very short time, he’d come to care for her deeply. He _needed_ her in a way he never had with another person, and that feeling could only be expressed one way in his opinion.

“I love you too,” he whispered softly into her sweet-smelling hair. “Sorry I kept forgetting to tell you.”

Fleur looked up at him again, her expression hopeful but concerned. “Are you sure? I would not want you to say such a thing because you feel you must, or because you are happy in the afterglow. It is okay if you do not.”

“But I do,” he insisted with a smile. “You’ve ended up being so much more than a friend to me, Fleur. I honestly couldn’t imagine where I’d be right now without you. I really, honestly love you.”

An astonished, wide smile spread across Fleur’s face, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She pulled herself up to kiss Harry deeply.

“Thank you, Harry,” she murmured, holding him closely. “You cannot know how much it means to hear you say that. I love you so much!”

Harry had thought that his time in France couldn’t get any more idyllic. For once he could just be himself, enjoy his life without the threat of Death Eaters, dangerous creatures, or other crazy people. It didn’t seem like things could be better.

He’d never been more happy to be wrong in his life.

If living with Fleur Delacour had been idyllic, then dating her was something resembling paradise.

In practice, relatively little had changed. Fleur still got up well before he did, leaving him to fill the days while she was at work. They still spent most of their spare time with each other, either exploring Paris, eating incredible food, or playing card games at home. However, the differences, while small on paper, were monumental in effect.

For one, Harry was spending a great deal more time at the café than before. Instead of the hour stop he used to make, he now arrived almost as soon as he got up in the morning, and often helped Fleur close. Despite the considerable amount of time he already spent with her, he found himself longing for more, even if she was too busy to give him much attention.

His status within the little restaurant had changed as well. Apparently sharing a bed with Fleur also meant he was trustworthy enough to be allowed behind the counter now. He found himself as an interesting sort of all around helper, fixing things that were broken, going out for deliveries, assisting Michelle once or twice when the chef was in a good mood. He even waited tables during particularly busy periods, to the confusion of the customers who recognized him.

These busy periods were becoming surprisingly frequent. The café had always been popular, but it was now packed to capacity almost from the moment it opened until well into the afternoon. One day, as they were dealing with a rush of people at 10:45 (a strange time for people to suddenly want lunch, Harry felt), Harry remarked on the near constant wave of customers they’d been dealing with.

“I mean, is it just because _I’m_ here more?” he asked Aubrey and Fleur in one of the rare moments where their paths crossed. “I thought you said I wasn’t that famous here?”

Inexplicably, Fleur blushed and refused to meet his eyes. “It’s not because of you, Harry,” was all she would say before rushing off.

His confusion must have shown because Aubrey smiled and leaned close to him. “It truly isn’t. It’s her.”

“Her, how?”

“I have known Fleur since we started at Beauxbatons, and her magic is always stronger when she is with someone,” Aubrey explained. “You would not believe how much attention she drew to herself when she got her first boyfriend. Although, I admit, I have never seen it this intense. I have very little interest in women, and even _I_ am struggling not to stare at her.” She turned a sly expression on Harry. “You must be making her _very_ happy.”

It was now Harry’s turn to blush. They hadn’t been sure how open they should be with their new relationship, but Aubrey had figured it out pretty much immediately and was taking great delight in teasing them about it at every opportunity.

She wasn’t wrong though. Some days, even after the insanity of the café, they barely made it through the door before ripping each other’s clothes off. Fleur tended to be particularly impatient, and more than once Harry had needed to mend clothing that she’d simply ripped off of him in the heat of the moment.

There were, however, still some uncertainties in their relationship. The most obvious was how much to tell their friends and family. They both knew the myriad of questions that awaited them once their relationship became public knowledge, and neither of them had any good answers. However, despite their attempts to simply live in the moment, there was only so much they could put off.

For one, they had agreed to another dinner at the Delacours’ _before_ they’d started sleeping together and Fleur was loathe to cancel. This created a small predicament.

“They will be able to tell,” she said to Harry the day before. “It will be written all over us, there is no way Gabby and my mother will miss it. And my papa is far too nosy for his own good.”

“So what should we say?” Harry asked, feeling a tiny bit nervous. He knew that Jacques was okay with them being together, but he had no clue about the others.

“The truth, that we are together and taking things one day at a time,” Fleur said. “It will be simplest. Although I will need to speak to Gabby privately I think.”

Harry’s trepidation grew. “How come?”

“You know she has a bit of a crush on you. I am not quite sure how she will take the news.”

“Do you want me to help talk to her?” Harry asked.

Fleur shook her head. “No, this should be between sisters. It will be fine. I hope.”

The next day, they stood outside the door to Chateau Delacour, except this time they were both hesitant to enter.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry said, taking Fleur’s hand.

She nodded, staring up at the massive doors. With a sigh, she turned the handle and they stepped inside.

Gabby was sitting on the stairs, tapping her foot impatiently. She leapt up when she saw them, beaming widely and starting to run forward.

“Finally!” she said. “What took you so long to-”

She stopped abruptly as she got closer, her eyes widening in shock.

“That obvious, huh?” Harry muttered.

Fleur shot him a wry smile and stepped away from him. “Come along, Gabby, we should talk.”

“But, I don’t understand?” Gabby said, frowning.

Fleur said something in French and took Gabby’s hand, pulling her gently up the stairs. Gabby kept glancing back at Harry, her expression confused and a tiny bit hurt.

Harry did his best to ignore the guilty squirming in his stomach and went to look for Apolline and Jacques. He found them in the kitchen, arguing over dinner. The little bit of French he’d picked up was mostly food related, due to his time in the café, and he gathered that Apolline disagreed with Jacques’ choice of flavours for the souffle. They both looked up as he entered and smiled widely when they saw him.

“Harry! How good to see you again!” Apolline said, coming over to give him a hug.

“Indeed my boy!” Jacques boomed. “Now that you are here, perhaps you can settle something for us. My darling wife seems to think that eel is not an appropriate garnish for the souffle! I tell her it will go well with the new chardonnay we just decanted. Please, help me convince her!”

“I’m not sure I’m the right person to be asking,” Harry said. “Fleur’s made it pretty clear that British people aren’t good cooks.”

“Bah, nonsense!” Jacques said, brandishing a huge chef’s knife. “There is nothing better than a good fish and chips!”

Apolline turned an indulgent eye on Jacques. “My dear, you have said that about the cuisine of every country you have visited. But perhaps tonight, can we simply use the white chocolate instead?”

Jacques gave a great sigh, as if he were being asked to compromise his deepest principles. “Fine! The eel can go into the salad I suppose.”

“Thank you, my love. We are most indebted to you.” Jacques grumbled and Apolline smiled at Harry. “And speaking of my daughter, where is she? Was she delayed at the café?”

“No, she’s here,” Harry replied, his nerves returning. “She’s just having a talk with Gabby right now.”

Apolline frowned. “Whatever about?”

“Well, um…” Harry and Fleur had gone over this; she would handle Gabby, he would let her parents know. She was absolutely certain that they would be nothing but thrilled and that she had the much harder task. But now that the moment was here, he was finding it difficult to force the words out.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Apolline narrowed her eyes for a moment, as if she’d just spotted something, then her expression cleared and she nodded. “Oh, I see. Yes, that might take a little smoothing over.”

“But you’re, you know, okay with it?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Apolline smiled. “Of course, Harry! We only want the two of you to be happy.”

Jacques frowned from his position at the stove, where he was stirring something in a pot. “I seemed to have missed something. What is Gabby discussing with Fleur?”

Apolline turned to her husband. “It seems that Harry and our daughter are together now.”

Jacques’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Together? You mean…?”

Apolline nodded and with a cry of excitement, Jacques flung his hands up into the air, sending the spoon he’d been holding flying over his shoulder.

“Well this is wonderful!” He bounced over to Harry and yanked him down by the shoulders to give him a kiss on each cheek. “I am so excited! When we spoke, I did not think something would come of it so soon. This is joyous news!”

“When you spoke?” Apolline looked suddenly suspicious. “What exactly did you speak of, my sweet?”

“Oh very little,” Jacques demurred, hardly seeming put off by the look his wife was giving him. “I may have simply mentioned to Harry that I suspected our Fleur of harbouring some deeper feelings for him. But you cannot blame me, see how perfectly it turned out!”

Suddenly, he clapped his hands, a look of inspiration coming over him. “We must celebrate!” he declared. “Forget the souffle, this calls for something special. A croquembouche!”

“Jacques, that may be a little much. They are hardly announcing their engagement, after all,” Apolline said.

But Jacque was not to be deterred. He was already bustling about the kitchen, summoning all manner of ingredients towards him as he muttered energetically to himself.

Apolline just rolled her eyes. “Come, Harry, let us leave this madman to his work.” She drew Harry towards the door to the dining room, where she began to set the table.

“Sorry if I shouldn’t have listened to him,” Harry said, helping her lay out plates and silverware.

“Do not worry,” she said with a small smile. “I would never tell him this, but he is usually right about these sorts of things. This is far from the first time he has played matchmaker, although he has never done it with one of our daughters before. I shall have to make sure he does not start looking for Gabrielle’s soul mate just yet.”

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“She will be fine,” Apolline reassured him. “It may take her a moment to adjust, but she is young and resilient. I am sure there will be many other crushes in her future.”

True enough, when Gabby and Fleur joined them a little while later, Gabby looked thoughtful, but not angry or resentful. She greeted Harry with a smile but did not insist that he sit with her again.

“How did it go?” Harry muttered as he sat next to Fleur.

“As well as can be expected, I think,” Fleur replied. “She was surprised, but she understands that you are perhaps a little old for her.”

“Didn’t stop _you_ ,” Harry replied before he could help himself. Fleur looked at him with shock before reluctantly giggling.

The dinner passed happily after that. Before long, Gabby was her usual cheerful self. She even cheered when Jacques brought out the elaborate croquembouche that he’d somehow managed to throw together.

“This is wonderful!” she said. “Harry is part of the family now!”

Fleur was a little less enthused. “You know we are only dating, Papa? We are not getting married just yet.”

But neither Jacques nor Gabby could be deterred, leaving Fleur and Apolline to shake their heads wearily while Harry looked on in amusement.

After dinner, they went out to the little Quidditch pitch again, where Gabby insisted on having Harry fly with her.

“Fleur told me you used to be captain of your Quidditch team?” she asked as they zoomed around the field.

“Only for a year,” Harry replied. “Not even that really, more like three quarters of a year.”

“Still, I was wondering if you would be willing to help me train this summer?” Gabby asked excitedly. “I really want to be on a team, and I’m sure I would if you taught me.”

Her expression was so earnest and hopeful, and Harry still felt guilty about inadvertently hurting her, that he found himself agreeing before he really thought about it. And she was so thrilled afterwards that he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

What followed was one of the best months of Harry’s life. The Delacours welcomed Harry as thoroughly as the Weasleys ever had, and even he was surprised at how readily he settled into his life in France. For the first time in years, he felt truly happy, as if he was just a normal person.

All good things had to come to an end eventually. A little less than a week after Harry’s birthday celebration, he stepped into the café after the morning’s training session with Gabby. The youngest Delacour was pursuing her Quidditch ambitions with a passion Harry hadn’t seen since Oliver Wood, and it was often Harry who had to request an end to practice when he grew too exhausted.

Today was no exception, and Fleur seemed to take note of his fatigue when he sank into a mercifully free seat at the counter.

“You would think _Gabby_ was the trainer with the way she is pushing you,” she remarked, pouring Harry a mug of tea.

“You know I wouldn’t be surprised if this was all some kind of ruse she and your dad came up with to get me back into shape,” Harry speculated with a rueful grin. “He’s still trying to get me to try out for the French team.”

“That would be an interesting headline, no?” Fleur smirked slightly. “The famous English war hero playing Quidditch for France.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m pretty sure they’d revoke my citizenship.”

“And then I would have you all to myself,” Fleur said with a satisfied smile. “You have discovered my evil plan.”

She leaned across the counter to give him a kiss, but the moment their lips touched, there was a loud _snap,_ and a bright flash of light caused them to jump. Harry turned towards the source of the sound and caught a brief glimpse of curly blonde hair and an all too familiar snide grin before the witch who had taken the picture turned and fled the café.

“Who was that?” Fleur asked, nonplussed. “She looked familiar.”

“You’ve met her once,” Harry said, a feeling of dread spreading through his stomach. “Her name’s Rita Skeeter, she did the article on the tournament.”

Fleur’s eyebrows drew together. “You mean that horrible woman who wrote all those lies about you?”

“That’s the one,” Harry sighed. “I’m actually a bit surprised it took her this long to find me. She’s pretty resourceful when she thinks there’s a story.”

But Fleur wasn’t listening, she’d marched around the counter and out of the café, wand in hand. Harry hesitated before following her, giving a befuddled Aubrey an apologetic shrug. He caught up to Fleur near the exit from Place Cachée. She was pacing, her wand still out and a look of anger on her face.

“She Disapparated before I could catch her,” Fleur spat. “What do you think she was doing here? It couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“It probably wasn’t,” Harry said resignedly. “I’m guessing someone tipped her off. Maybe that guy you threw out last week for hitting on you? He seemed like the vindictive type.”

“He will be the _castrated_ type if I ever see him again!” Harry hadn’t seen Fleur this incensed since his confrontation with Esteban Lestrange.

“Well, unless you want to try to head her off at the Ministry, there’s not much we can do at this point,” Harry said. He’d meant it as an offhand comment, but Fleur seemed to take it seriously, and he barely caught her arm before she Disapparated. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Attacking her in the Ministry won’t help.”

“We cannot simply let her get away with this!” Fleur responded. “She will print horrible things about you!”

Harry shrugged, trying to put on a brave face. “It won’t be the first time. I’ll deal with it. I’m a little more worried about you right now.”

“French papers do not print the drivel English ones do,” Fleur said, still pacing. “Even if they did, I have nothing to fear. She has been far worse to you. What if this affects your friends, or your offers from the Ministry?”

“We’ll deal with it,” Harry repeated, trying to force himself to believe the words. “We’ve been through way worse before.”

Harry didn’t have to wait long for the other shoe to drop. Two days after sighting Rita in the café, Harry received a slew of letters. Unfortunately, he’d learned over the years how to spot the ones from crazed fans or hostile wackos and immediately discarded those. Someone had sent him a copy of the _Prophet_ , which he unfurled to see a full page photo of him and Fleur kissing, the title, _Harry Potter’s New Love: The Chosen One Spotted in France with Former Triwizard Tournament Competitor, Fleur Delacour_ printed in bold letters above. He reluctantly opened up to the article, figuring he should know exactly what was being said about him.

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named appears to be settling in with a new flame, writes Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet correspondent. The Prophet can exclusively confirm that Mr. Potter, age 18 of London, is currently involved with Fleur Delacour, 21 of Paris, France. Regular readers may remember Ms. Delacour from her involvement in the infamous Triwizard Tournament several years prior, which ended in the tragic death of Hogwarts student Cedric Diggory._

_Mr. Potter, who at the time of Tournament was rumoured to be dating his close friend, Hermione Granger, was most recently linked to Ginny Weasley, best known for her involvement in the Hogwarts Resistance. It is unclear how Ms. Weasley is taking the news that her former love’s attentions have drifted to this French beauty._

_The Prophet has learned that Mr. Potter recently relocated to Paris for an undefined amount of time. An anonymous source reveals that he circumvented normal Ministry travel offices with the intention of living with Ms. Delacour. This secrecy raises many questions about the nature of their relationship. Mr. Potter has received many offers of employment following his heroic role in ending the war, and one must wonder how his new relationship will affect his choices._

_Even more concerning is the revelation that Ms. Delacour is herself part Veela, a group of magical beings well known for their seductive abilities. Readers may very well wonder if Mr. Potter was in possession of his full faculties when he made the choice to move to France, especially given his behaviour since his relocation._

_A source who has also wished to remain anonymous for his privacy shared that Mr. Potter has been frequently seen at the café that Ms. Delacour owns and runs._

_“He’s like an errand boy,” our source tells us. “He does whatever she tells him to, even waiting tables. It’s like he’s totally under her control.”_

_The news that the great Harry Potter is now waiting tables in a French café will undoubtedly be disturbing for many. It is our hope here at the Daily Prophet that the Ministry of Magic will take seriously the possibility that Mr. Potter is not behaving of his own free will. We will, of course, continue to bring news of this situation as we learn more._

It was everything Harry had expected and more. The implication that Fleur was controlling him was especially galling, but ultimately unsurprising. Skeeter had made similar speculations about Hermione feeding him love potions during their fourth year. However, calling out his friends and folks at the Ministry was escalating the situation beyond anything reasonable.

With a sense of inevitability, he dug through the pile of mail until he found a pair of letters with handwriting as familiar as his own.

Ron’s was mercifully brief and clearly written in a hurry.

_Harry,_

_Well done mate! Need DETAILS! Write back IMMEDIATELY!_

_Ron_

He shook his head ruefully and set this one aside, turning to Hermione’s far less congratulatory letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_Please tell me Rita Skeeter’s piece on you and Fleur is some sort of joke or frame up. Because I am absolutely certain that my BEST FRIEND would have told me if he had started a relationship with the woman he’s living with._

_I hope you didn’t feel the need to hide anything from us because you were worried about how we’d react. Yes, Fleur didn’t make the best impression when she was at Hogwarts (and yes I’m rather sick of Ron fawning over her) but you should know we trust your taste enough to give her a fair chance. Are the two of you serious? Are you planning to move to France permanently, or is she coming to England with you?_

_Please, can you write back and let us know EXACTLY what is going on. Kingsley’s been asking after you, he wants to know if you’re coming back to join the new recruits. I’d also like to know if I’m going to have a chance to see you before I go back to Hogwarts this fall. Summer is almost over and I feel like things are changing so quickly._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry cringed as he reached the end of Hermione’s letter. He could tell she was hurt, and her recriminations were completely justified. He’d known that not telling her about his relationship with Fleur would come back to haunt him, but he’d been unable to get himself to send the letter because he knew she would bring up these very questions, questions he had no good answers for. They’d tried to put off thinking about where their relationship was heading, but it looked like the conversation couldn’t be delayed any longer.

When Fleur got home that afternoon, she found Harry surrounded by crumpled up pieces of parchment, evidence to his inability to come up with a good response for Hermione.

“We need to talk,” he said unhappily, tossing away his latest attempt.

Fleur sighed and went to grab a bottle of wine and some glasses. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

Grimmauld Place was even gloomier than usual after two months spent in Fleur’s bright, sunny apartment. Harry paused in the entryway, staring at the all too familiar portraits and tapestries with disdain. Kreacher continued to work at Hogwarts, which meant there was no one around to maintain the rundown mansion. The only saving grace was that Mad Eye Moody’s curses had finally worn off, so he wasn’t greeted by the specter of Dumbledore upon entering.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry climbed the stairs to Sirius’s bedroom, which he’d kept in its original owner’s preferred state. Looking around at the scantily clad Muggle women decorating the walls, however, he realized he’d probably have to make some changes before Fleur arrived. Either that or move to the master bedroom, which he was loath to do.

“Kreacher,” he called into the empty room.

The old house-elf appeared at once with a crack. “Yes, Master Harry?” he croaked, bowing low. Harry had still not gotten used to the elf’s clean and proper appearance, let alone his respectful demeanor.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Harry said grimly. “We’re going to have company.”

Rita Skeeter’s intrusion into their lives laid bare the need for Harry and Fleur to seriously begin considering the implications of their relationship. While they could agree they had absolutely no desire to break up, it was difficult to know what their future looked like. Their respective families and careers were in two entirely separate countries, although neither of them were particularly attached to their occupations.

“I could always turn over the café to Aubrey and move to Britain with you?” Fleur suggested at one point. “She enjoys it much more than I do anyway.”

“But then you’d be so far away from your family,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, I haven’t even joined the Aurors yet, it’s not set in stone. Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to move here?”

“It has been your dream for so long,” Fleur insisted. “I cannot take that away from you.”

Back and forth they went, for hours at a time until they were both so thoroughly confused that Fleur resorted to getting naked as a distraction.

After a while, they took their dilemma to Jacques and Apolline.

“I cannot say what you should do in the long term,” Apolline said after listening to them. “But perhaps you don’t need to figure that out right this moment?”

“What do you mean, Maman?” Fleur asked.

“Well, I am thinking that Harry has spent some time here with you, so perhaps you could spend some time with him in Britain?” Apolline suggested. “You could think of it as a vacation. Have you not been saying that you would like to travel a bit?”

“Yes, this is an excellent suggestion!” Jacques agreed enthusiastically. “You are brilliant, my wife! You hardly got to see Britain before, this will be a marvelous adventure.”

Absent any other suggestions, they decided to go with Apolline’s idea. While Fleur could not afford to take a full two months like Harry had, she agreed that a couple weeks away from the café would be nice. Hopefully, the change in scenery would give them a chance to figure out exactly what they wanted

Harry had returned to Britain a week before Fleur, partially in order to give her time to make arrangements in the café, but mostly so Harry could prepare. There was no way he was going to make her stay with the Weasleys, which meant he had to get Grimmauld Place ready for people to live in again. Also, he wanted a chance to field the many questions people would inevitably have for him without Fleur also getting bombarded.

His concern was validated at his first Weasley dinner after returning. There was a general uproar as he entered the Burrow, with a mass of red haired

The next week passed in a blur as Harry did his best to once again make Grimmauld Place fit for human habitation. The process was aided by Kreacher’s assistance this time around; the elf’s magic made cleaning far easier. This helped make up for the fact that Ron and Hermione flat out refused to join in. Despite being delighted to have Harry back in the country, they made clear that they’d spent enough time cleaning the mansion for a lifetime.

“No offense, mate, but we’ve only got a few weeks before Hermione goes back to Hogwarts,” Ron said with a shrug. “A lot of other things we’d rather be doing until then.”

Harry grudgingly allowed them this and soldiered on with Kreacher.

“Hey Ginny.” He tried to summon up the friendliest smile he could.

Of all the people he knew he’d have to talk to, he’d been dreading seeing Ginny the most. They had left things as well as could possibly be expected, given the circumstances, but he had absolutely no idea how she’d feel about him and Fleur.

“Hey, Harry.” Ginny’s answering smile was strained. “So, sounds like you had a busy summer?”

Harry cringed at the studied civility of her tone. “I’m sorry I didn’t write and tell you, I just wasn’t sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not like you owe me an explanation or anything.” Ginny’s voice was steady, but Harry had known her long enough to tell that she wasn’t happy.

“No, I do,” he insisted. “I know we split up, but you’re one of the most important people in my life, and I should have let you know.”

Ginny frowned, the mask of civility cracking. “So why didn’t you? Do you know what it’s like finding out from a paper that your ex is dating a bloody Veela?”

Harry winced. “No, but I can imagine. I guess I was worried it would look like I’d ditched you for Fleur, and I didn’t know what to say to explain.”

Ginny was unmoved. She planted her hands on her hips and gave Harry one of the steely eyed looks he knew so well. “For my sake, why don’t you give it a try? Because you’re right, that’s kind of what it looked like. I mean, I never took you for a bloke who goes for the hottest witch he can bag, but it’s hard not to think it when there’s a picture of you locking lips with Fleur on the front page of the _Prophet_.”

Harry fought down an instinctive desire to defend Fleur, reminding himself that Ginny had every right to be angry with him. “That really has nothing to do with it. I went to France to get away from everything for a bit; I honestly wasn’t even _thinking_ about starting something with Fleur. She wasn’t either, it just kind of happened.”

Ginny stared at him for a long moment before glancing away and huffing out a sigh. “Look, as hard as it was, I accepted the fact that it wasn’t going to work out with us and you’d eventually end up with someone else. But you’ve gotta understand why seeing you with Fleur might make me a feel a bit insecure. She’s just so…stuck up, it’s a bit hard to imagine what you see in her besides a bloody perfect arse.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “Honestly you’re right. She _is_ stuck up. And image conscious, occasionally shallow and _way_ too superior about French food. She’s also kind and thoughtful and incredibly loyal. I love her, flaws and all, just the same as she loves me. She could look like Grawp’s sister for all I care, that’s not why I’m with her. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t really think of her as my type either. I mean, she can’t even fly a broom!”

The corners of Ginny’s mouth curved reluctantly. “I suppose if there’s anyone who I’d believe is dating a Veela for her personality it’s you.” She sighed heavily. “Alright Harry, I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t still find this a little weird, but I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

“Fleur said you don’t have to see her at all,” Harry rushed to assure her. “She knows how uncomfortable this might be and she’s happy staying out of the way if it would help. She also said to tell you that she would happily steal your hair if she could manage it.”

“I’m going to choose to believe that she’s telling the truth and didn’t just say that to make me feel better.” Ginny said. “And let her know she doesn’t have to avoid me or anything; I mean that’s not really feasible anyway. I think I’d rather she just treated me like she would any of the rest of your friends. I really don’t need a Veela tiptoeing around me like I’m going to break; that _definitely_ won’t help my self-esteem.”

“Thanks Ginny.” Harry ducked his head and added softly, “For what it’s worth, I wish things could have been different with us.”

“Me too,” Ginny replied, her expression full of melancholy. “Maybe in another universe.”

Harry smiled wistfully. “Yeah, maybe.”

The Ministry was much changed from Harry’s last visit. All signs of the Death Eaters’ occupation were gone. The giant, oppressive statue in the Atrium was gone, but they hadn’t recreated the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Instead, there was a tribute to everyone who had died during the war. Harry couldn’t bear to look at it, except out of the corner of his eye as he hurried through the Atrium with his head down.

Once in the lift, he did his best to ignore the stares and sidelong glances of the other occupants. One by one, they exited the lift, finally leaving him alone as he reached the Minister’s level. Here as well there were changes; little additions in decour and layout that made it clear this was a new Ministry. And there were far more people bustling about than previously, evidence that their personnel shortages were being addressed.

The secretary in front of Kingsley office nodded respectfully as Harry approached. “Please go in, Mr. Potter, he’s been expecting you.”

Kingsley’s office was a little more tidy than on Harry’s previous visit, perhaps an indication that things were finally getting under control. The man himself looked just the same as ever, and he smiled when Harry entered.

“Harry! How are you?” he asked, standing and coming around the desk to shake Harry’s hand.

“Not bad, aside from having my private life constantly splashed across the _Prophet_.”

“No such thing as a private life when you’re famous,” Kingsley remarked sympathetically. “If it makes you feel any better, the _Prophet_ seems to think being Minister means I’m no longer allowed to date. They publish editorials about how I’m not working hard enough every time I so much as get a drink.”

“I’ve been told France has much better laws about reporters, if you’re looking for something to emulate,” Harry said.

“Don’t tempt me, I honestly might try it. But as enjoyable as it is, I didn’t ask you here to complain about the _Prophet_.” Kingsley folded up his hands on the desk in a pose reminiscent of Dumbledore. “I was hoping we could talk about my offer to have you join the Aurors. We’re bringing in our first new group of recruits in a few weeks, and I wanted to see where things stand with you? You’re still welcome to join of course, unless your interests have changed?”

Harry took a deep breath while he gathered his response. “To be honest, Kinglsey, I’m not sure. I really don’t know what I want these days. I kind of assumed I’d come back here at some point, but now I don’t know. This thing with Fleur, well…” He trailed off uncertainly.

“I’m guessing you weren’t planning on starting a relationship when you left for France?” Kingsley said.

“Not really,” Harry admitted. “It just kind of happened.”

“Are you thinking about moving to France permanently?”

“Maybe? I’m not sure. Fleur said she’s willing to move here, she knows I was thinking of joining the Ministry. But I don’t want to take her away from her family and her café. She’s worked really hard, it seems selfish to just drag her to a whole new country. Then again, she says she wants a chance to travel, see the world a bit, so maybe it’s not that big a deal?” Harry shut his mouth when he realized he was rambling, but Kingsley didn’t seem to mind.

“It sounds like things are pretty serious,” the Minister observed, as if a young wizard’s love life was actually worth his time.

“I must sound crazy,” Harry muttered.

“Not at all, Harry,” Kingsley reassured him with a sympathetic smile. “You sound like a young man with a lot of choices. So let me help you narrow things down a bit. As of this moment, I’m officially revoking your offer of employment with the Ministry.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. He frowned at Kingsley, whose cheerful expression was quite at odds with the words that had just come out of his moth. “Wait, what are you saying? You don’t want me in the Aurors anymore?”

“Oh no, I’d love to have you as an Auror,” Kingsley replied easily. “But it’s increasingly clear to me that _you_ don’t want to join the Office, you’re just too scared or loyal to admit it. So I’m making things easier for you. Go be with your lady and find something you _actually_ want to do.”

Harry gaped at him, struggling to find words. “But…but,” he stammered, “what makes you think I _don’t_ want to be an Auror?”

“How about the fact that when I asked you if you did, you almost immediately started talking about Fleur?” Kingsley pointed out. “Honestly, Harry, it’s not that hard to figure out. You told me yourself you originally wanted to be an Auror to learn how to fight Voldemort. Well, guess what, you figured that out all by yourself. Not really much reason to go through with it now, is there? Odds are we won’t have another Dark Lord for at least another fifty years.”

“I thought you needed as many new Aurors as possible though?” Harry said, not even sure why he was arguing.

“Yeah, we do,” Kingsley admitted. “But frankly, I need them to _want_ to be there. Being an Auror is hard work Harry, it takes a lot of commitment. I know you’re capable of it, but I don’t think it’s what you really want. Am I wrong?”

Harry sagged in his seat. “No, you’re right. I just…feel like I’m being selfish,” he muttered.

Kingsley leaned forward. His voice was soft and comforting when he spoke. “It’s okay to do things that make you happy, Harry. The war’s over, you’re allowed to actually live your life now.”

Harry looked up into Kingsley’s open, earnest face. “You’re really sure you don’t need me here?”

Kingsley smiled. “You’re talented, Harry, but you’re just one man. Believe it or not, I think we can manage just fine on our own.”

That was exactly what Harry needed to hear. It felt like an enormous weight was lifting off his shoulders, a weight he hadn’t even known was there. Suddenly, everything was so much clearer. He felt energized, and happier than he had in weeks.

Standing up, he held out a hand. “Thanks, Kingsley.” He tried to inject as much sincerity into those two words as he could, to express the true depth of his gratitude to the Minister.

Kingsley’s smile widened as he shook Harry’s hand. “Anytime, Harry. Feel free to drop by whenever you’re in the neighborhood. My door’s always open.”

The tone was subdued on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. For the first time, Harry and Ron would not be joining Hermione on the journey back to Hogwarts. It was hard for Harry not to feel wistful as he looked up at the red steam engine, truly realizing that he wasn’t going back. Off to the side, Hermione and Ron stood in a tight embrace, whispering quietly to one another. Ron was openly crying, and for once Hermione was the strong one.

Ginny was busy saying goodbye to her parents, George, Percy, and Bill. When she finally disentangled herself from her mother, she walked up to Harry and Fleur, who were hovering a bit uncertainly.

“It’ll be weird not having you there,” she said. “I never really got used to it last year.”

Harry tried to smile. “Well it shouldn’t be too different on the team at least. You always did fine without me, Captain.”

Ginny glanced down at the shining Gryffindor Quidditch Captain’s badge pinned to her jumper. “I suppose it shouldn’t be too hard to replace you with another Seeker,” she quipped. “I’m sure there are plenty of other Quidditch prodigies waiting in the wings.”

Harry’s smile turned genuine and he drew her into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Ginny.”

“You too,” she said softly, so only he could hear. “I’m glad you’re happy, Harry. Even if it isn’t with me, I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“Thanks,” he muttered uncertainly. “I know you’ll find someone amazing too. And he’ll be a really lucky bloke.”

“Believe it or not, that really helps.”

They pulled apart and Ginny gave Harry one last, slightly sad smile before turning to Fleur. The blonde witch held out a hesitant hand, but Ginny surprised her by hugging her as well. Harry could see Ginny whisper something to his girlfriend, but there was too much noise for him to overhear. Fleur drew back and nodded, her expression as serious as he’d ever seen.

“What did she say?” Harry asked Fleur as Ginny left to board the train.

“She told me I better understand that I am the luckiest woman in the world,” Fleur said, uncharacteristically shy. “And if I do anything to hurt you, she will visit horrific retribution on me.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, that sounds like something she’d say.”

Fleur was spared a response by Hermione’s approach. The bushy haired witch was teary eyed, but there was a look of resolution on her face as she embraced Fleur. The two of them had hit it off even better than Harry could have hoped, and Hermione’s smile was genuine as she said farewell.

“Promise me you’ll write,” she said to Harry, “And don’t leave anything out this time!”

“I won’t,” Harry replied. “I swear. What _would_ I leave out now?”

Hermione gave him a skeptical look before wrapping him up in one of her trademark bear hugs. “Tell me what she says,” she whispered in his ear.

Harry blushed, glancing quickly at Fleur. “How did you know?” he hissed back.

Hermione drew back enough for him to see her smile. “I know you, Harry. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, nerves starting to act up.

They stood with the rest of the Weasleys and waved to Hermione and Ginny as the Hogwarts Express began to pull out of the station. They didn’t stop until the train rounded a bend and was lost to sight.

“You gonna be alright?” Harry asked a splotchy Ron as they exited the station.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Got plenty to do, right? And it’s not forever.”

“Just let me know if you need anything,” Harry pressed. “I’m always here.”

“Thanks, mate.” Ron clasped him on the shoulder. “You too.”

“Harry, would you and Fleur like to join us for lunch?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “Arthur and I always liked to get a bite to eat after dropping the kids off. I never want to go back to the house right away.”

“Thanks Mrs. Weasley,” Harry replied, “but I had somewhere I wanted to take Fleur, if that’s alright?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Of course, dear. Don’t forget, you’re both welcome for dinner if you don’t have other plans.”

They bade their farewells to the Weasleys and reentered London. Fleur looked at Harry curiously.

“Where did you want to take me?” she asked. “You didn’t mention having any plans.”

“It’s a surprise,” Harry said, feeling more nervous by the second. “There’s a place I wanted to show you.”

He took her hand to guide her through Apparition. They reappeared in a small town square whose only remarkable feature was the war memorial at its center. As Harry led Fleur closer, the statue shifted to one of a young couple, a husband and wife cradling a small baby.

Fleur’s eyes went wide. “Is that…?”

Harry nodded. “My parents. This is Godric’s Hollow, where I was born. Our house is just down there.” He pointed down one of the streets. “I wanted to bring you here, because there’s things I need to say.” He took Fleur over to a bench near the memorial. Her expression was open and caring enough to make him want to cry.

“You can share anything with me, mon tresor,” she told him with a soft touch to his cheek.

Despite her reassurances, Harry couldn’t help second guessing himself, wondering if this was not the time. But then he reminded himself that he was confident in how he felt, and there was no point hiding it. He summoned up his Gryffindor courage and began.

“When Ginny said you were the luckiest woman in the world, it was really nice, but I feel like _I’m_ the lucky one being with you. Growing up, I didn’t really have friends, and my family weren’t what they should have been. Until I met Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys, I didn’t have _anyone_.

“And then I had you.” He looked deeply into her beautiful, clear blue eyes. “You were such a good friend to me. Now you’ve become so much more. You’ve given me a family, a home. More than I ever could have hoped for. I know neither of us is sure where we’re heading in life or what we’re doing, but I feel like it doesn’t matter as long as I get to figure it out with you.”

He took one last breath to gird himself before slipping off the bench to kneel in front of Fleur, whose eyes had grown wide. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal an intricately wrought gold ring set with rubies and emeralds.

“This was my mother’s ring,” he explained, struggling to hold his composure. “I found out it’s been in my dad’s family for centuries.”

He offered it up, along with all his hopes, dreams, and wishes.

“Fleur, mon amour, will you marry me?”

Fleur clasped her hands to her mouth in shock. There was an interminable, nearly unbearable pause while she looked from him to the ring and back again. Then she lowered her hands and, with tears in her eyes, uttered a single, joyous word.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little taster of the concept, so let me know what you all think. I've had to really reconceptualize Fleur's character to get the whole thing to work in my head. Most of it's written, so I'll post pretty regularly, but I would still welcome feedback along the way.


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